


If Only Tonight We Could Dream

by arxettutissimanobis



Category: Supernatural, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Crossover, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2014, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Gods, M/M, Magic, Men of Letters, Men of Letters Bunker, Sex Dreams, Temporary Character Death, mention of past Castiel/Balthazar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 08:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2501387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arxettutissimanobis/pseuds/arxettutissimanobis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crossover of SPN AU and the book <i>The Realms of the Gods</i> by Tamora Pierce. Castiel is the King of Dreams, living a lonely existence creating good dreams as well as nightmares for mortals until a powerful sorcerer destroys the barrier between realms and supernatural creatures are released into the Mortal Realms.</p><p>After rescuing Dean from a nightmare about the fire that killed his mother, Castiel spends more and more time in Dean’s dreams over the years, both of them creating fantastical scenarios and impressive creatures. They have enough to worry about trying to figure out how their relationship can work, considering one of them is a god who can’t speak to mortals outside of dreams, but their lives become even more complicated when something sinister comes through from the Divine Realms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Dean/Cas Big Bang 2014](http://deancasbigbang.livejournal.com).
> 
> Thank you SO much to my amazingly talented and wonderful artist [writercas](http://writercas.tumblr.com) \- every time I got a new piece of art to look at it was like the best birthday and Christmas present wrapped into one!
> 
> Thanks to my beta and cheerleader [wincechesters](http://wincechesters.tumblr.com) \- this story would absolutely not exist if it weren’t for you. I love you more than air!
> 
>  
> 
> [Art Masterpost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2501957)
> 
>  
> 
> As a sidenote, if you haven't read the Tortall books, I highly recommend them. Start with the series _Song of the Lioness_ (The book _The Realms of the Gods_ is the last book in the series _The Immortals_ ).

 

  
  
Three hundred years ago, a group of scholars calling themselves the Men of Letters resolved to find a way to construct a barrier between the Realms of the Gods and the Mortal Realms, in order to keep mortals safe from the supernatural and immortal creatures that traveled between realms, wreaking havoc wherever they went. Many hours of research and experimentation culminated in a ritual that would lock away the supernatural creatures forever. Unfortunately, they discovered that in order to completely seal off one Realm from another, a great sacrifice was required: the blood of a human child possessing a powerful Gift needed to be spilled over the altar at just the right moment.  
  
After the ritual was performed, untold numbers of spirits, fantastical creatures and lesser gods disappeared from the Mortal Realms without a trace. Powerful creatures such as dragons - not that they concerned themselves with the Mortal Realms - and gods could easily pass from realm to realm on certain days such as solstices and equinoxes as well as ancient holidays such as Beltane. The knowledge of the ritual was carefully protected so that it could never be reversed; all documents pertaining to the spell were locked away in the Men of Letters’ archives and only those descended from the original scholars have the key.  
  
The absence of the immortals was felt immediately and before long, the people of the Mortal Realms forgot that such creatures ever existed and that gods had been part of everyday life. Eventually tales of wendigos and werewolves came to be thought of as mere myths and legends. The Men of Letters settled back into normal lives, content with knowing that they were no longer required to hunt evil things that go bump in the night. The fact that life got a little more boring, a little less magical, without supernatural creatures around seemed like a small price to pay.  
  
In the late twentieth century, a descendant of one of the creators of the ritual - a man calling himself Magnus - was approached by a powerful warlock named Azazel with an offer too tempting to refuse. Azazel promised Magnus a place among the gods in the Divine Realms in exchange for the scrolls containing the secret to breaking down the barrier between realms. Making the journey to the long-abandoned headquarters of the Men of Letters, Magnus retrieved the spell and handed it over to the warlock. Of course, Azazel had no intention of following through on his promise; there is no way for a mortal to become one of the gods, after all. As soon as he had the spell in his hands, he killed Magnus without a second thought.

  
  
  
  
 **Twenty years ago**  
  
The last echoes of the chant fade away, vanishing into the vaulted ceiling of the decrepit warehouse, and silence falls. The light of the torches burning around the room flickers and dances, revealing a dozen cloaked figures ranged in a ragged circle. In the center stands an altar on which rests a collection of items that to the uninitiated may seem random, but are in fact the ingredients of a powerful spell. The leader of the group, differentiated by his red cloak when the rest are wearing brown, bows his head and listens. He hears a distant rush of wind; the boundary between the Mortal Realms and the Divine Realms is growing weaker, letting the strongest creatures through that have been waiting for their chance to escape for the last three hundred years.  
  
A baby’s cry pierces the expectant silence and the sound is cut off as an acolyte rocks the baby in her arms. One last ingredient is needed to complete the spell - the sacrifice of a powerful Gifted child - and the leader of the group gestures for the acolyte to bring the baby forward. The man, who is already a very dark and powerful warlock, doesn't stop to consider the consequence of his actions; by opening the gate to the Divine Realms, he will rule over all the immortals that escape, therefore gaining the powers of a god. He won’t let the life of one small, whimpering child get in the way.  
  
He takes a step towards the child, preparing to complete the ritual, when one of the doors to the warehouse slams open, echoing through the room.  
  
“Azazel!" A man’s gruff voice calls out and he recognizes it as John Winchester’s. “Give me back my son, you son of a bitch.”  
  
Pushing back the hood of his robe, Azazel refrains from growling his frustration as he faces the baby’s father. How had he found them? For the first time that night, the warlock looks closely at the people grouped around him and notices that the young woman who had been caring for the baby won’t meet his eyes. Perhaps she had betrayed him. No matter, he would deal with her later. Judging the situation untenable - John is the only one in the room who is armed and Azazel’s Gift is drained from performing the spell - Azazel looks for an exit. In the confusion that erupts in response to John waving his gun around, Azazel slips out of the building, already plotting his revenge on John Winchester for ruining his plans, and begins to think about his second attempt. He won’t be dissuaded from his goal so easily.  

 

* * *

  
  
A week later, Azazel returns to the Winchester’s home in Lawrence, Kansas. He is aware that there are other children in the world with the unique characteristics needed for the spell - male, less than 6 months old, with a strong Gift - but Sam Winchester’s Gift is the strongest he’s ever encountered. It’s truly a shame the boy must be sacrificed; there is potential in him for creating dark spells and he would be a formidable ally once Azazel rules over all mortals.  
  
His magic twists inside him in anticipation, raising goosebumps on his skin. The house is dark and he should be able to acquire what he needs without a struggle, yet he craves a confrontation to keep his magic strong and prove he is worthy of sitting alongside the gods of the Divine Realms. With a feral grin, he stalks across the road and up the driveway to the Winchesters’ home, quietly murmuring a spell to unlock the heavy, glass-plated front door. Sneaking up the stairs, he follows the familiar route to the child’s nursery that’s still clear in his mind from the first time he was there only weeks before.  
  
Once at the top of the stairs, he turns left and enters the first door. All is silent, the regular breathing of the rest of the family comforting in its regularity; nothing stands between him and his goal. He steps to the side of the crib with a singular purpose, reaching his arms inside until his fingers brush the soft fabric of the infant’s pajamas.  
  
“Hey! You just don’t give up do you?” A voice calls out from behind him and he spins, cursing himself for being so focused and not checking around the room as he entered. Mary Winchester had obviously been asleep in the rocking chair in the corner, standing guard over her sleeping child.  
  
“Stand back, Mary. I have no quarrel with you,” Azazel attempts to placate the woman as he steps backwards towards the crib once more. “Your son has an amazingly strong Gift and it is his destiny to serve in the completion of the spell to open the gates of the Divine Realms.”  
  
He turns, reaching out again, when he is flung across the room, smashing into the wall. How could he have forgotten? Mary is an exceptional mage in her own right, and Sam most likely inherited his Gift from her. A glittering shield stands between him and the boy, encasing him in a light red bubble of protection. With a growl, Azazel rushes towards Mary and she throws another spell at him. He deflects Mary’s spell, causing the light fixture on the ceiling to explode, raining sparks down upon the room. He Binds her in place, smiling as he hears her fighting against the spell, and approaches Sam, ready to attempt to break the shield.  
  
A bullet hits Azazel in the shoulder; he turns to see John standing in the doorway with a rifle and a glare that could level city blocks if he’d had the Gift. As John reloads the gun, Azazel fans the sparks landing all over the room and watches with glee as they catch, lighting the bedclothes and curtains on fire.  
  
“Damn you!” John yells, stepping into the nursery. Azazel casts a Binding spell over him, but it doesn’t take - he sees a sparkle of red around the man and laughs. Mary had cast shields around all her family members but herself. People who sacrifice themselves are often the ones who are the most powerful; he doesn’t understands why they don’t take that power for themselves and rule over all beneath them.  
  
As the flames continue to rise, the bedroom window shatters and Azazel makes his escape, gliding out the window and landing on the lawn. He hears John yelling Mary’s name, attempting to break the Binding still upon her, and then calling to his oldest son.  
  
It may take years until he finds another child with a Gift like Sam’s, but Azazel will keep looking. In the meantime, he’s confident that he won’t have any more trouble from the Winchesters.

 

* * *

  
  
 **Fifteen years ago**  
  
In the middle of a clearing in the Divine Realms sits a pool which reflects glimpses of scenes, of nightmares and disjointed tales conjured from the depths of the subconscious of every person in the Mortal Realms. Castiel, the King of Dreams, hunches over the pool, shaping and directing these dreams, sending a warning to one dreamer and delivering a fragment of a message about the future to another. Beyond the ethereal glow of the pool, fearsome creatures pace restlessly, waiting their turn to be sent into a dream. A pale moon filters through the branches of the skeletal trees, barely illuminating a castle gone to ruin in the distance.  
  
The cloying smell of smoke rises from the dream pool and Castiel hesitates instead of moving on to the next dream. He has long since given up adding such extravagant details as smells and tastes to the dreams he creates, since most people are too focused on what they are seeing and hearing as they dream to really notice. The fact that he's encountered a dream that includes such a distinctive smell - and an extremely strong one at that - means not only is this not one of his dreams, it is likely a oft-repeated nightmare for the dreamer. His curiosity gets the better of him and with hardly a second thought, Castiel plunges himself into his scrying pool and enters the dream.  
  
 _He is instantly surrounded by flames, tongues of fire licking up the walls of what appears to be a child's bedroom. Posters featuring cartoon characters quickly burn to ash as the blaze begins to creep along the floor, obliterating all that stands in the way. A whimper pulls his attention to one corner of the room, where a young boy sits curled in on himself, crying into his arms where they rest folded on top of his knees. Almost against his will Castiel feels drawn to this child, but before he can take a step, the dreamer - a boy who looks to be about ten - bursts through the door, coughing and gasping._  
  
 _"Sammy!" The dreamer yells and rushes to the other child’s side, taking no notice of Castiel standing in the center of the room, untouched by the flames. Fear pulses through the dream, a metallic tang laced with the smell of burning hair. "We have to get out of here!"_  
  
 _The sobs cut off suddenly and the boy raises his head. His face is not that of a child, nor is it human. Jet black eyes glare at the dreamer from under a heavy brow, the expression on the creature's face contemptuous, and it snarls as its attention shifts to where the Dream King stands. The dreamer twists to look over his shoulder, shock evident as his eyes widen._  
  
 _“Who are you? Are you an angel?" he demands, gaze flicking up to the nightstand where a ceramic figurine of an angel rests. Castiel feels the thread of suggestion lacing the dreamer’s voice and shadowy wings erupt from his shoulder blades, filling the room with the rustling sound of feathers. With a mere thought, Castiel extinguishes the flames and the creature is exorcised from the child huddled in the corner. The dreamer frowns up at Castiel and the edges of the dream begin to blur; the last thing he sees is the dreamer pulling the child named Sammy into his arms._  
  
Castiel surfaces in the pool, brow knit as he considers what he's just seen. It's only as he's settled once more by the side of the water - after willing his clothes dry - that he realizes he entered a dream in his own form for the first time in two hundred years. Usually when he makes an appearance in a dream, it’s in a form far different than his own - whether it’s a harbinger of doom to a despot or a familiar figure to warn a dreamer about a scheming spouse. There’s no reason for him to enter a dream as himself, yet he has done so in order to aid a young dreamer.

 

* * *

  
  
He’d tried to forget the child who dreamed of fire so viscerally, but in the rare moments when he’s not attending to dreams, Castiel finds his thoughts returning to that single mortal. When he’d entered the dream, he could feel the tension and the distress rolling off the dreamer in waves. Do mortals always feel so strongly inside their dreams?  
  
Patting absently at the head of one of the many creatures that populate his nightmares, he realizes there’s never been a reason to wonder about the effect his dreams have on the mortals who experience them. It’s simply his job, the meaning of his existence, to supply fear and caution and a healthy dose of morality to mortals. Without the presence of the immortal creatures that once inhabited the earth, there is nothing for mortals to fear, to supply their imaginations with inspiration for superstitions and spirituality.  
  
Castiel did his very best to stay away from this mortal who had turned his entire world upside down, but it became obvious he didn’t have that much self control. The next time the smell of acrid smoke wafts from his dream pool, Castiel hesitates for a few breaths. Instead of diving headlong into the waters, he merely touches two fingers to the surface, transporting himself into the dream.  
  
 _Wide eyes meet his as Castiel lands, wings erupting from his back once again when the boy recognizes him. The Dream King puts out the flames, taking a second to observe that this room is different; they appear to be in a small apartment which is dingy and dirty._  
  
 _“Is it really you?” The boy asks with a quaver in his voice. “You’re the one that saved me the last time?”_  
  
 _“Yes, it is I. You may call me Castiel.”_  
  
 _With a relieved smile, the boy holds out his right hand and introduces himself. “I’m Dean.”_  
  
 _Unsure of the purpose of the extended hand, Castiel returns the gesture and even though the boy was all the way across the room, in the way of dreams, Dean is instantly in front of him, grasping his hand and shaking it up and down._  
  
 _“Nice to meet you, Cas,” Dean says._  
  
 _“You as well.”_  
  
 _Dean sits down in a sagging armchair with a sigh, picking up a TV remote that was sitting on an end table. He begins to manipulate the object, spinning it in the air without even touching it and Castiel stares, fascinated. His attention snaps back to Dean when the boy speaks up again._  
  
 _“I don’t like this place. I miss home. Dad says that home is wherever he says it is.”_  
  
 _Tilting his head, Castiel asks, “what do you consider home?”_  
  
 _“Any place we stay more than a couple months, I guess.”_  
  
 _Castiel conjures up a more pleasant scene for his young friend: a campfire in the woods over which they roast marshmallows. He is pleased to see the child smiling as he begins to tell Castiel jokes and stories about his little brother, Sam._  
  
When Dean’s dream unravels, Castiel leans against a nearby tree, closing his eyes. The concept of home isn’t one Castiel has considered before - he’s always lived in his corner of the Divine Realms, which has become more dark and depressing over the centuries. He feels a bit of regret that its not as pleasant as it used to be, but he definitely doesn’t understand the nostalgia attached to the memory of one place. He does, however, regret that Dean and Sam don’t have a place to call home.  
  
He finds himself observing and visiting the boy’s dreams often, soothing the nightmares and occasionally sending him a pleasant dream, though he’s had such little practice with nice dreams that he soon exhausts his own ideas and instead just sits with the boy, listening to him chatter about school and the people he meets and his brother.  
  
In all his time as Dream King, since the beginning of time, he’s never spent so much time with one person and tells himself he’s merely taking an interest in the lives of mortals. Surely there’s no harm in that.

 

* * *

  
  
 **Twelve years ago**  
  
 _Another door opens to another unfamiliar room. Frightened that he’s never going to find the way out, Dean looks back over his shoulder, down the hall stretching endlessly into the distance. The view is the same ahead. Checking random doors is hardly the best strategy, but he can’t seem to gather his thoughts to think of a better one._ Maybe if I just walk straight down the hall, eventually I’ll get to the end, _he thinks._ Or maybe I’ll circle around endlessly.  
  
 _Shuffling emanates from behind a few of the closed doors. Heavy breathing. Growling. Gradually becoming aware of a presence directly behind him, he walks faster without turning around. He wishes that Sam was here; his brother is so smart. Sam would know the best way to figure out how to escape and he would know what it was that’s following him. Breaking into a run, the doors start to blur past, yet the creature keeps up. He stops abruptly and shoulders his way into a room, hoping whatever is inside isn’t as nasty as the thing in the hallway._  
  
 _He fumbles with the door to find and flip the lock, leaning against the door for good measure, then stretches out one arm to search along the wall for the light switch. He cringes as the creature flings its body against the wood at his back. Nothing happens when he flips the switch and he curses, dropping his head into his hands. He can feel the dark curling around him, pressing him back into the door as it rattles again._  
  
 _With a swish of wings, Castiel appears before him, glowing like a small sun. He lights up the whole room, and the monster in the hall cries out, yipping like a frightened puppy. Dean hears it running away and heaves out a deep breath._  
  
 _“You really are my guardian angel,” Dean says and reaches out to run his fingers through the angel’s feathers. After a moment of stillness, Dean looks around at the other things in the room. Like all the other rooms he’d seen, it is strange; some sort of mix of a few motel rooms he’s been in over the years. There’s dirt and grime gathering in the corners and he sees a cockroach skitter across the floor. Dean turns to the angel just in time to see a disgusted look flicker over his face and then the room is sparkling clean. Angelic powers do have their perks, after all._  
  
 _“I assure you, I am not an angel, guardian or otherwise,” Castiel insists. It’s a familiar argument, worn thin over the years. Cas never tells him exactly who he is, he just shows up to rescue Dean from whatever nightmare his subconscious digs up and then sometimes hangs around for awhile. When the angel appears, Dean immediately knows that he’s dreaming and everything becomes much clearer._  
  
 _“It’s so weird to dream over and over about someone I’ve never even met,” Dean observes into the silence. “Not that I mind, of course.”_  
  
 _The angel nods distractedly, as if he’s listening to a whole different conversation in his head._  
  
 _Dean pokes around the motel room, laughing about the fact that he can lie down in a bed at the same time he’s asleep in the real world._  
  
 _“Hey Cas, wanna snap up some burgers for us?” Dean teases. and Castiel merely narrows his eyes at him._  
  
 _“Dean! Dean, wake up we have to go,” Dean’s father’s voice echoes throughout the room and he looks around, confused. How can I hear him if he’s not here with us? Dean wishes he could tell him about his guardian angel, but he knows his dad wouldn't understand._  
  
 _Suddenly Castiel steps close into Dean’s personal space and with two fingers, taps his forehead._  
  
Dean wakes to see his father standing over him, shaking his shoulder roughly. Suppressing a groan, he rolls out of bed to get dressed. As he does, his mind turns over the events of his dream. Why does he keep seeing the same person in his dreams? What does it mean that his angel can mess with his dreams? As far as he knows, not everyone has a dream-friend - which is different from an imaginary friend, thank you very much - and every time he thinks he’s going to bring it up to his dad, he changes his mind.  
  
He can’t imagine that his dream-angel is bad; he’s never done anything to hurt Dean. Just helps him when the nightmares get too scary and listens to him talk. No one else really listens the way his angel does.  
  
But before he can give the whole situation much more thought, his dad stomps out of the motel room to pack things into the Impala. He yells over his shoulder, “Get Sam ready to go, Dean.”  
  
After he helps Sammy pull on some clean clothes - making a mental note that they’ll need to do laundry before too long - they head out, driving to yet another town in search of another hopeless lead to find the warlock that killed Mary.  

 

* * *

  
  
 **Nine years ago**  
  
 _Dean is drowning. The murky water, more black than blue, tells him that he’s deep in the open ocean and he has no idea which way is up. In all directions are hints of stars... or are they eyes? They come in close, pressing into his skin until he feels like he’s burning up from the inside. The pressure surrounding his body increases, threatening to crush him like the insignificant speck he is. Fighting the vice around his chest and arms, he thrashes around, knowing any moment he’ll run out of air and inhale a lungful of water._  
  
 _All sounds are muted; he can hear vague noises like whale calls and with one last kick he finally stills, allowing himself to drift with the current. Slowly, it dawns on him that he’s not choking, not gasping for breath while the water crushes him to death. The water feels warm around him, not at all cold and confining. He finds that he doesn’t need to breathe at all._  
  
I must be dreaming.  
  
 _With that realization comes a sense of complete peace. Dean knows he’s asleep, safe in bed as far as he’s aware and floating in an endless dream sea that is comfortable and relaxing. He lies back with his hands under his head and watches idly as a school of brightly colored fish swim by._  
  
 _The ocean dissolves and he exists in a vast space where he hangs for an infinite time. Deep breaths like the heartbeat of the earth. The rush of wind during a thunderstorm, with the scent of earth and lightning. Creatures like none he has ever seen, fur the color of emeralds and rubies, giving off scents that are like nectar to his senses. But to approach them would spoil the effect, and their teeth gleam like stars in the dark threatening all who come close. Creatures who symbolize the darkest recesses of the imagination, as well as all the goodness in the world, exist right next to each other without a thought of how they shouldn't coexist. They just are._  
  
 _The sound of laughter echoes from off to one side and Dean glances over to find Castiel sitting cross-legged in midair with those amazing silvery wings mantled behind his shoulders. It seems perfectly normal to Dean that Cas is here now and he grins up at him._  
  
 _“This is one of the weirder dreams I’ve had in awhile,” Dean observes and pulls himself into a sitting position._  
  
 _"You're seeing the dream world for what it really is, Dean. It is everything and nothing all at once."_  
  
 _"That almost makes sense, man. And you get to live in this world all the time - that's gotta be so awesome."_  
  
 _"It is," Castiel agrees. For some reason, he looks a bit sad as he looks into Dean's eyes._  
  
 _Watching the emotions play across his friend’s face, Dean has an idea. “You know, I think I’d like to have some wings like yours.”_  
  
 _With a mere thought, feathers erupt from Dean’s back and he laughs when he sees Cas’ eyes widen comically. “Ready, Angel?” Dean asks._  
  
 _Before Cas can recover from his surprise or berate Dean for calling him “angel”, Dean launches himself upwards, breaking free of the empty space and spiraling into the air over a rich landscape. It doesn’t take long for Castiel to catch up and Dean leads them on a wild flight, recklessly maneuvering around trees and mountains._  
  
 _When Dean tires of that game, he lands gracefully and starts to experiment with changing the scenery - a purple tree here, a metal flower there. A whole row of pies lined up on a picnic table that pops into existence._  
  
 _“Check this out, dude!” Dean calls to Cas where he’s standing, transfixed, staring at a tree that is now flowering fruit that look like hamburgers._  
  
 _“It’s incredible, Dean. How do you know how to do all this?”_  
  
 _“I don’t know!” Just to be a showoff, Dean snaps up a couple creatures somewhat reminiscent of fluffy elephants, and changes the color of their fur in rapid succession. “I realized I was dreaming and figured, why not do some cool shit?”_  
  
 _“Indeed,” Castiel answers flatly, rolling his eyes fondly. Before long he calls out a goodbye and flits away, leaving Dean to his creations. Dean messes around until he feels the edges of his dream fading away._  
  
Dean blinks his eyes open to the sight of Dad and Sam squaring off at the other side of the room. John’s hands are curled into fists, his entire body radiating the urge to strike out at something; Sam is standing with his arms crossed. The thrill of being able to fly in his dreams fades as Dean realizes he’s going to have to play middleman and diffuse the situation between his dad and Sam, like always.  
  
“Why can’t we stay in one place for awhile?” Sam hisses, keeping his voice low since he thinks Dean is still asleep. “The school here has a good magic program. The books Bobby gave me about magic and self-control aren’t enough - one day I might accidentally hurt someone with my Gift.”  
  
“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” John growls.  
  
“Dad, you have no control over it - neither do I!”  
  
“You don’t have to use your Gift, Sammy,” John suggests, and even Dean knows that’s a weak argument.  
  
“It’s a part of me, whether you like it or not!” Sam yells, throwing his hands up in the air. He tries to push past John to storm out of of the motel room, but John shoves back and Sam stumbles, falling onto the empty bed. Dean chooses that moment to sit up and look at the pair with a frown.  
  
“”Wha’s goin’ on,” he mumbles, playing dumb.  
  
“Nothing,” John says and turns, stalking out of the room and slamming the door.  
  
Dean looks over at Sam, but finds that his brother has curled up in the bed facing away from him.  
  
“You want some pizza for dinner, Sammy?” he asks into the silence.  
  
At first Dean doesn’t think he’ll get any response, then Sam sighs and says “Yeah, sounds good. Thanks Dean.”  
  
“‘Course,” Dean says, picking up the hotel phone. He just hopes they have a credit card that still works.

 

* * *

  
  
 **Six years ago**  
  
Lying back in one of the more uncomfortable motel beds he’s ever had the displeasure of experiencing, Dean thinks back to the hunt that day. They would have been overrun by the nest of vampires, but at the last moment Sam had suddenly lashed out with magic more powerful than Dean had ever seen, killing the vampires and knocking the Winchesters on their asses. It had been silent in the car on the way back to the motel, until Sam finally brought up the well-worn subject of going to school and learning to control his magic.  
  
Barely avoiding driving into a ditch as he reacted, John had shot down that idea down right away, just like he always does. They all fumed for the rest of the trip and Sam had stomped into the motel room, in and out of the shower, and then fallen into bed without a word.  
  
Dean can somewhat understand his dad’s position on the issue - after all it was a warlock that killed Mary. But not all magic-users are evil, and a Gift as strong as Sam’s could be a really useful tool if he learned how to take out just the bad guys without the backlash that had thrown them all to the ground.  
  
Watching as Sam’s chest rises and falls beside him, Dean eventually slides into sleep.  
  
 _“Hey, Angel,” Dean greets Castiel as soon as he appears, same as always. And Castiel frowns at the nickname, like always._  
  
 _Tonight, Dean feels like pushing the issue; he can still feel the anger and stress from the day boiling under his skin, needing an outlet. He’s been practicing what he can change once he realizes he’s dreaming. Without so much as a word, he changes Castiel’s usual outfit of plain black robes to a suit, complete with a backwards blue tie._  
  
 _Castiel sputters, looking down at himself in disbelief. With a laugh, Dean adds a tan trenchcoat, and the holy tax accountant outfit is complete._  
  
 _“Dean, what is the meaning of this?”_  
  
 _“Just flexing my dream-building muscles, buddy. It’s a good look for you!”_  
  
 _Castiel looks at Dean, unconvinced, and suddenly Dean knows exactly what he needs. Dean smiles mischievously and above Castiel’s head, a gold halo appears._  
  
 _“There, Angel. All you needed was a halo.”_  
  
 _Castiel gropes above his head and when his hand comes in contact with the metal circle floating there, his expression changes from confused to angry._  
  
 _“Dean, this is ridiculous! I am not an angel,” he insists, pulling the halo from above his head and disintegrating the rest of the illusion Dean built. Castiel’s presence becomes larger somehow, and for the first time since Dean started seeing him in his dreams, he feels just the slightest bit afraid._  
  
 _“What are you?” Dean’s voice comes out as a whisper._  
  
 _“I am the God of Dreams.” The presence gets larger still and Dean doesn’t buy it for a minute._ What sort of gullible idiot does he think I am?  
  
 _“Bullshit,” Dean says, voice gaining volume again._  
  
 _If the situation wasn’t so charged, causing the edges of the dream to turn dark, Dean would have laughed at Castiel’s startled expression. His mouth moves soundlessly for a moment, so Dean continues._  
  
 _“What are you, really? A djinni somehow sucking my dreams dry all this time? A dream demon of some sort? What?”_  
  
 _“I assure you; I am what I say,” Castiel says as his expression becomes more menacing. ”I think you should show me some respect.”_  
  
 _“Yeah, I don’t think so,_ Cas,” _Dean sneers around the nickname, hoping to express the extent of his distrust. “Leave me alone, all right? Don’t come into my dreams anymore. It’s creepy.”_  
  
 _Dean forces himself into wakefulness, shutting Castiel out completely._  
  
Dean lies in bed for the rest of the night, not daring to go back to sleep. He’s fairly certain he could put up defenses to keep Castiel out if he needed to, but nevertheless he’d rather stay on this plane and calm the hell down.  
  
Plans start to form in his head: somehow he’ll need to find someone who can tell him the truth about Castiel, and he has a hunch that there’s an answer in his dad’s journal. Noting that his dad is no longer in the room, he slips out of bed without waking Sam, and eases out of the room. The Impala is still in the lot, so who knows where his Dad slunk off to - probably some seedy bar or something. He unlocks the trunk and finds the journal, rifling through it until he finds what he needs.

 

* * *

  
  
The life of the Dream King is, by its very nature, a lonely one. He's always one step out of sync with the world, unable to talk to mortals unless they're asleep and only mind-to-mind with his fellow gods. He’d resigned himself to being alone millennia ago, after a disastrous attempt at a love affair with Balthazar, the God of Love, and never imagined things could be different. And then he’d met Dean.    
  
It's only after nights he spends with Dean in his dreams that Castiel feels satisfied, that he feels like he has a place to call home. He never realized that what he needed most was to collaborate with another being, to share the burden of the solitude with someone who definitely understands what its like to stand apart. The notion of a kindred spirit had never been something that he considered until now.  
  
Of course, then he’d ruined everything by revealing his true identity to Dean. Castiel forces himself to focus on his responsibilities as the King of Dreams, instead of thinking about Dean and the angry words they’d said to one another. The dreams he creates take on a particularly dark, violent twist for awhile as he works through his options. He won’t force his way into Dean’s dreams, but what if, someday, Dean wants to speak with him and doesn’t know how to call him? If only he had someone to ask for advice... Balthazar might be able to help but more likely he would tease Castiel mercilessly for having a friend that he only sees in his dreams.  
  
Back to the job at hand. There's a man mistreating his employees that needs a dream about being the lowliest drudge, ignored by everyone around him. A queen being horrible to her subjects that gets the same dream as the last person. On and on without end.  
  
“I love what you've done with the place, darling.” A voice startles Castiel from his current dream and he looks up to see Balthazar standing with his hands in the pockets of his ridiculously tight pants. Narrowing his eyes, Castiel doesn't respond as he can't determine if his friend is being sarcastic or not.  
  
“It’s all so horribly morbid.” Balthazar says, looking around at the creatures gathering around him with a contemptuous expression. “I think it’s gotten worse since the last time I was here.”  
  
—Which was how long ago?— Castiel asks levelly, speaking directly into the mind of the other god. —Two hundred years?—  
  
The blond god waves a dismissive hand and says, "Hardly a blink of an eye.”  
  
Castiel merely hums and turns back to his dream pool.  
  
"I hope you know what you're doing," Balthazar speaks up again after a long moment.  
  
Irritation bleeds into his voice as Castiel answers, —This is merely a nightmare meant to- —  
  
"No, not the bloody mortality tale you're feeding to some poor bastard. I mean what you're doing with your human." The distaste Balthazar has for mortals is clear in his tone, but Castiel barely notices as he feels a shock run through him. Balthazar knows about Dean - how many of the other gods know how much time he’s spent in the dreams of a single mortal?  
  
—My human?— Castiel forces his expression to remain neutral, giving nothing away. After all, he’s not sure if Dean will allow him into his dreams anymore. —I don't know to what you are referring.—  
  
"Please, Cassie. The Winchesters are hardly some anonymous family, you know."  
  
—The Winchesters?— He never thought to ask Dean's last name. Why would he?  
  
"Dean Winchester. His father, John; his brother, Sam. They're Hunters, Castiel. All the big bad monsters that escaped from the Divine Realms know their names and most, if they're smart, fear the Winchesters."  
  
A thousand thoughts begin swirling in Castiel's head, but the main question is how. He can't seem to form the words, but the expression on his face as he looks up at Balthazar must say it all.  
  
"Apparently the boy got curious about you and went to a seer. I intercepted the summons and fed her the generic mumbo jumbo about Your Majesty." With a roll of his eyes, Balthazar adds, “don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone else about your little dalliance.”  
  
Pushing aside his objection to the term "boy" to describe Dean, Castiel begins to feel a bit better. His secret is safe. And at least now Dean will believe what Castiel said about his identity. Hopefully Dean will allow Castiel back into his dreams - though Castiel knows better than to wish for a return to the way things were before.  
  
Balthazar watches as Castiel processes this new information and eventually sighs. "I can see you won't be reasonable about this. Just be careful, all right? No good can come from fraternizing with the hairless apes."  
  
There's no more to be said, so Castiel looks down once more and trails his hand in the water at his feet.  
  
"A pleasure as always," Balthazar snarks before popping out of existence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Five years ago**  
  
 _Dean opens his eyes and sees nothing but darkness. He can feel his eyelids gumming together with grit and dirt; he attempts to raise a hand to wipe them clean but finds he can barely move his arms. Completely boxed in on every side, he tries not to panic. There's no sound to be heard except the dull echoes of his limbs scraping along the floor. Groping around in his pocket, he finds the lighter that’s always there, even though he doesn’t smoke. You never know when you might need some light. Like right now. He flicks on the lighter and immediately wishes he hadn’t._  
  
I’ve been buried alive.  
  
 _He is currently inside a wooden coffin - he raps on the top of the box - and definitely under at least a couple feet of dirt. His lighter gutters out and the darkness presses in, snaking up his nose and down his throat. He gasps quick, panicked breaths that do nothing to help him get air into his lungs._  
  
 _“Cas?” he calls out weakly, his voice barely a whisper. He needs some water so badly. He’s sure he’ll never not be thirsty ever again, always craving a drink of water for the rest of his short life. He tries to lick his lips, but all that happens is the skin grates against his tongue, a dried out husk in his mouth. He feels like his skin and his throat and his eyes are drying up as he lies there and he’s going to die. “Hello!” he says as loudly as he can manage, but gets no answer back._  
  
 _As he pushes against the lid of the coffin, he notices that it’s getting lighter and lighter and soon he can get some leverage against it. A crack of sunlight streaks in, but it brings with it a shower of dirt and he coughs._  
  
 _“Cas, is that you?” Still no answer, but he can get the lid of the box open now and he starts to wriggle out of the confining space. Splayed around him are the trunks of burnt-out trees; it looks like a bomb went off. He looks back to see the nondescript cross-shaped marker at the head of his grave and makes a mental note to gripe at whoever made that decision. That’s just rude. It doesn’t occur to him until he’s stumbling across an empty field that there might be a reason whoever buried him didn’t want his body found. Namely the fact that he was likely to be resurrected._  
  
Holy shit I’ve come back from the dead.  
  
 _There’s not a soul to be seen in any direction, but on the horizon in the east Dean can see some sort of building, so he heads that way. It turns out to be a rusted old gas station, which still has water and a few items of packaged food stocked. He feels the back of his neck prickle as if he’s being watched; he goes into the back to assess what kind of weapons he has at his disposal. Oddly there’s a large supply of salt, and he starts lining the windows and doors with it, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference as the TV flickers to life above him._  
  
 _There’s a presence here and it feels familiar. “Cas?” Dean says one more time, and then the wave of sound hits him. It would have blown out his ear drums if this weren’t a dream - and suddenly he’s completely convinced that it is a dream - and the glass in the windows and doors shatters around him. Even now, he’s sure he’s completely alone. With that realization, he gives up fortifying the gas station and instead transitions to a nice hotel room where he gets cleaned up and rests for a bit. When he feels calm, like he’s shaken off the fear of waking up in that coffin, he gently eases out of the dream and into wakefulness._  
  
Dean scrubs a hand over his face and looks over to find his dad’s motel bed empty. He contemplates calling Sam, but decides if his brother wanted to talk, he’d call. For so long, his brother had wanted out of the hunting life, wanted something more stable. A few months ago, he’d finally just left, making his own way to the mage university to begin his training to use his exceptionally strong Gift. Of course, John won’t even talk about Sam now that he’s gone; he is so prejudiced against sorcerers for what one warlock did years ago that he doesn’t even acknowledge his son.  
  
Maybe he’s better off at school anyway, Dean thinks. This way he’ll meet other people who are as smart and talented as he is, and he has a chance to do something with his life.  
  
Sighing, Dean rolls out of bed and goes in search of his dad.

 

* * *

  
  
The sensation of being Summoned causes Castiel to pause as he’s flicking through dreams. All knowledge of the spell of Summoning was lost long ago, forgotten along with all knowledge of the supernatural. Even more startling is the fact that the pull is coming from his dream pool - even if a mortal had the Summoning spell, it’s nearly impossible to complete a spell in a dream, since nothing is what it seems. But then it hits him: there is one person in the whole of the universe who could call him from inside a dream.  
  
It’s Dean.  
  
A little less than a year has passed in the Mortal Realms since he last visited one of Dean’s dreams. It has been difficult to resist jumping in and smoothing out the rough edges of the man’s nightmares, especially when Castiel can feel Dean’s fear so viscerally before he realizes he’s dreaming, but the words Dean spoke still echo in his mind: “it’s creepy”. This is different, though, he reasons, since Dean is calling for him. Hesitating over his dream pool for an instant, he steels himself for the confrontation that will surely follow.  
  
 _He finds himself in a motel room; the furnishing and decor are mismatched and outdated, but it is clean and welcoming. Dean sits on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees and head ducked low. He looks a bit like he’s praying, which may well be the way he chose to call Castiel._  
  
 _Wings have sprouted from Castiel’s back out of habit and instead of his robes, he’s wearing the suit and trenchcoat Dean created for him the last time they were together. As he lands inside the dream, the sound of feathers rustling alerts Dean to his arrival. Dean raises his head, and Castiel sees a multitude of emotions flicker across his face, thankfully ending with a cautious type of relief._  
  
 _“You know how to Summon me?” Castiel can’t help but ask._  
  
 _“I just focused on you and reached out...” Dean trails off, obviously not sure how he did it._  
  
 _“You are amazing, Dean,” says Castiel, causing Dean to blush and duck his head again. “You intuitively know more about how dreams work than most of the Gods in the Divine Realms.”_  
  
 _Ignoring that statement, Dean stands and starts pacing in front of the bed. The patterned bedspread is only slightly distracting. “I wanted to apologize for my reaction when you revealed who you are. I believe you now, that you’re a god. Sorry it took me so long.”_  
  
 _Castiel can’t hide his relief and smiles widely, taking a step closer to Dean and when he doesn’t protest, sits down on the bed._  
  
 _“Can I ask - “ Dean takes a deep breath, feeling braver when Cas nods encouragingly. “How many other people do you pop in on while they’re sleeping to have deep, meaningful conversations with?”_  
  
 _“I assure you, you are the only one.”_  
  
 _All the tension drains out of him and he sinks down onto the bed next to Castiel._  
  
 _“I had a nightmare, a month or so back,” Dean says after a little while. “I dreamt that I’d been buried alive and I called for you, but you didn’t come. It took longer to realize I was dreaming that time.”_  
  
 _“I’m sorry.” Although he hadn’t been aware of that particular dream, all the times Castiel passed by Dean’s nightmares weigh down on him, and he knows he’ll never forgive himself._  
  
 _“No, don’t apologize. I’m the one who freaked out and totally shut you down. That dream made me realize how nice it is to have you around and I was kind of hoping you’d want to come back and hang out again.”_  
  
 _Nudging Dean’s shoulder with his own, Castiel answers, “Of course, Dean.” Castiel feels a weight lift from his shoulders; he’s missed his friend so much and it pained him when he couldn’t help Dean escape his nightmares. If Dean is willing to let him into his dreams once more, Castiel will make it up to him by creating some really impressive pleasant dreams in the near future._  
  
 _“You’re still wearing the trenchcoat,” Dean observes. “That was just a joke, Cas.”_  
  
 _“No, I like it. I find that it suits me.”_  
  
 _“It does,” Dean agrees. “So, let me tell you about the werewolves we ganked last week...” Dean launches into a retelling of his latest adventure, and Cas settles in to listen to his best friend._

* * *

  
  
**Three years ago**  
  
 _Castiel approaches Dean where he's hunched over behind a bed in a motel room. He feels the familiar sense of worry creep up on him - he never likes to see Dean curled into himself, hiding from the world, how even in a dream he can't escape his stressful, dangerous life. However, when he peers over Dean's shoulder, he sees a small collection of creatures milling around in front of Dean, on which the man is concentrating intensely. He must make some sound; Dean startles and glares up at him._  
  
 _"Holy shit, dude. You should wear a bell or something."_  
  
 _"I apologize. What are you doing?"_  
  
 _"I'm trying to make the perfect creature! I've got a mixture of dogs, cats, wolves, snakes, foxes..."_  
  
 _Smiling, the Dream King settles down next to Dean and scoops up one of the stranger looking of the creatures. "How about something like this?" And he turns the creature's fur purple with leopard spots._  
  
 _"Hey, don't mess with a guy's pets!" Dean scolds him, but counters by adding floppy ears and goofy little fins to the creature._  
  
 _Next Castiel expands the little monster to be the size of a large housecat. Dean adds comically large teeth._  
  
 _"This poor thing," Dean says as he laughs._  
  
 _"It is a bit ridiculous," Cas agrees. "I wonder what my dogs think of it."_  
  
 _Dean looks over at him, a confused look on his face. "What do you mean, your dogs?"_  
  
 _"Every time I create a creature in a dream, it comes to life in the Divine Realms." Castiel ducks his head, unsure of how this revelation will be received._  
  
 _"Seriously? So you have a bunch of fluffy bunnies and unicorns running around?"_  
  
 _"Not exactly."_  
  
 _"Cas..."_  
  
 _"I have been creating mostly nightmares for the past two hundred years, Dean. Most of the creatures featured in them are quite frightening."_  
  
 _"Oh yeah, I guess that makes sense." Dean changes the fur on another one of his pets. "But you said you have dogs?"_  
  
 _"Yes. Long ago, I decided I needed companionship in the Divine Realms, and I went about creating a pack of dogs. They’re not sentient, but they keep me company nonetheless."_  
  
 _Taking a minute to let that sink in, Dean grows one of the more canine-looking creatures and adds a spiked ridge down the spine. "I bet they look pretty badass."_  
  
 _Castiel can't help but laugh. "Yes, they do."_  
  
 _"So if I wanted, I could have this guy hang out with me all the time when I'm dreaming?" Dean holds up the odd-looking dog-creature._  
  
 _"I suppose," Castiel answers. It never ceases to amaze him how well Dean can use his abilities._  
  
 _"Do me a favor and make this guy huge, would you?" Dean points towards a bunny with sharp front teeth and a spiked tail. "Like, the size of a horse."_  
  
 _With a thought, Castiel does just that. "Why..."_  
  
 _"That'll give your dogs something to think about!"_  
  
 _He can't help the sharp bark of laughter the escapes him. "It certainly will."_  

 

* * *

  
  
 **One year ago**  
  
 _Stepping into Dean’s dream, Castiel finds himself near a sports field, surrounded by stands of benches. The sky is clear with a few wispy clouds floating by and the sounds of cheering and a whistle being blown drift on the wind. Closer by, Castiel can hear breathy laughter; he stealthily follows the sounds where they lead, around a corner and behind a set of seats._  
  
 _He sees Dean leaning against the stands, a light-haired young man pulled close against his chest. As Castiel watches, the man presses his lips to Dean’s neck, kissing his way up until he’s kissing Dean’s lips. With a grin, Dean kisses him back and Castiel turns to walk away as quietly as he can, not wishing to disturb Dean’s fantasy. Somehow Dean must sense his presence and the dream changes: the stands disappear and they’re sitting on a single bench under a large tree._  
  
 _“You interrupted a perfectly good dream, Cas.” Dean accuses, but the easy smile on his face belies his tone._  
  
 _“I apologize,” Castiel says, nevertheless._  
  
 _“Nah.” Dean waves away the apology and claps a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I’d rather see you than have some high school fantasy come back to life.”_  
  
 _Castiel tilts his head in question, hoping Dean will elaborate; Dean looks away, running a hand over his face. “The captain of the baseball team... I had a crush on him from day one. He may have felt the same way, but my dad dragged us outta town before I could do anything about it.”_  
  
 _“But you would have ‘done something about it’ had you not left when you did?” Suddenly it feels extremely important to Castiel that Dean answers the question. Gods don’t put much stock in gender roles and who is interested in who, but Castiel knows mortals sometimes are sensitive about the issue._  
  
 _Dean shrugs and darts a glance towards him. Castiel smiles and Dean returns it, seemingly reassured by Castiel’s positive reaction. “Dunno. Is that a problem for you?” He asks, a slight tease just barely detectable._  
  
 _“That you had a crush on a boy? Dean, gods don’t care much about that sort of thing.”_  
  
 _“Really?”_  
  
 _“Really.”_  
  
 _“Good,” Dean answers. “I don’t really mind if someone identifies as a man or a woman; if I like them, well, I like them.”_  
  
 _“Sounds like a good way to go about it,” Castiel agrees._  
  
 _Nodding, Dean turns to look out across the park and they fall into a comfortable silence. Castiel is again considering leaving when Dean speaks up. “Have you ever... you know... dated another god?”_  
  
 _Castiel feels like he should have seen that one coming._  
  
 _“A long time ago...” Castiel starts, and jumps when Dean turns to him quickly with a skeptical expression and he finishes: “but I’ve been far too busy for the past few centuries.” He really doesn’t like to dwell on those memories of being alone._  
  
 _“Damn, Cas, I always forget that you’ve been around so long. You must have seen it all... dating anyone other than a god wouldn’t be very exciting.”_  
  
 _Castiel doubts very much that being intimate with someone like Dean would be boring, but he doesn’t say so. He turns it around on Dean and asks, “So what is it that you’re attracted to, in a man or a woman?”_  
  
 _Dean regards him with an eyebrow raised for a moment and then shrugs again. “Besides good looks... It’s usually someone I’ve known for a long time and who I don't have any secrets from, you know? I know they’re a good person and I can trust them. It has to be someone I can have interesting conversations with and who likes doing the same things I do.”_  
  
 _He winks at Castiel, grinning over at him, and Castiel feels a rush of excitement when he realizes that Dean’s list could apply to him - it can’t simply be a coincidence. But Dean didn’t mention anything specifically about looks, so maybe that’s where Castiel doesn’t quite match up to other potential love interests. He remembers the boy from Dean’s dream was blond, and shifts his own hair color. “If you prefer a different appearance, I can change mine in the dreams we share,” Castiel assures him, ignoring the fact that Dean knows this very well by now._  
  
 _Before Dean can reach out and pat him on the shoulder and assure him it’s ok, Castiel stands up off the bench and changes again, to a man with more muscles and who is slightly taller. Then, Castiel considers that perhaps Dean would like interacting with a woman so he cycles through a few different appearances, mostly taken from others’ dreams he’s seen._  
  
 _When he finally looks back at Dean, Castiel can tell he’s holding back laughter. Tilting his head again, Castiel stops changing and narrows his eyes._  
  
 _“Stop, stop,” Dean gasps. “I can’t believe you - is that Marilyn Monroe?!”_  
  
 _Several minutes of helpless laughter follow, then Dean finally catches his breath. “Turn back, Cas. I like you just the way you’ve always been.”_  
  
 _“But are you attracted to me?” Castiel steels himself and asks, bracing himself for more laughter._  
  
 _With a completely serious expression on his face, Dean gets off the bench to stand close to Castiel, leaning into him so their shoulders are touching. “Are you attracted to me?” Dean asks, turning the question back on him, and he looks away._  
  
 _“Cas? Look at me, man.”_  
  
 _Powerless to resist Dean’s beseeching tone, he turns back to find their faces inches from one another. “Dean, relations between mortals and gods are not a good -“ but before he can finish his warning, Dean closes the slight distance between them so their lips are pressed together._  
  
 _The wall Castiel had been frantically trying to build in his mind comes crashing down and he gives himself over to the kiss. Dean’s hands roam over his back, then he makes a frustrated noise. Castiel pulls back and Dean begins to slide the coat off his shoulders. “This damn coat,” Dean mutters._  
  
 _Figuring Dean has forgotten the power he has in his own dreams, Castiel removes all his clothes with a mere thought._  
  
 _Eyes wide, Dean glances down and breaks into fresh gales of laughter._  
  
 _“I simply wished to expedite things,” Castiel protests, which makes Dean laugh even harder. Following Dean’s eyes down his body, Castiel wonders what is so amusing. He considers his groin; as far as he knows, his manifestation’s genitals are average size, but he knows some humans put a lot of emphasis on size. Frowning, Castiel makes his penis slightly larger._  
  
 _“Did you just-? Cas, oh my god.” Dean brings his hands to Castiel’s face, cupping his face gently and forces him to meet Dean’s gaze. “Hey. Slow down.”_  
  
 _All at once, Castiel is wrapped in a robe and he muses that Dean hasn’t forgotten about his powers after all. The confusion about the whole situation must be clear on his face because Dean pulls him into a hug. “I am attracted to you, Cas. Everything about you, just the way you are. And I wasn’t trying to strip you earlier, I just wanted you to be comfortable.”_  
  
 _“You know very well that physical comfort doesn’t mean anything in dreams, Dean,” Castiel chastises him. This situation just keeps getting stranger and stranger, and he wishes he knew what it all meant._  
  
 _“Of course I know that. It’s all about the mood.”_  
  
 _“I don’t understand.” Castiel is dismayed to hear how petulant he sounds._  
  
 _“I know,” Dean says kindly, holding him tight in his arms. “Just keep your clothes on, OK? And trust me.”_  
  
 _“I do trust you,” Castiel says, pressing close to Dean’s body._  
  
 _The dream changes yet again - this time they’re sitting on the hood of a black car under the stars and Dean sighs happily, leaning back against the windshield. “Best place in the universe to see the stars, Cas.”_  
  
 _A number of other places that offer a superior view come to mind, but Castiel is starting to understand that Dean doesn’t mean those sorts of statements to be taken literally. Looking down at himself, he sees that he’s back to wearing his usual clothes, the “holy tax accountant” outfit as Dean calls it. All except for the trenchcoat, which Castiel can see laying in a heap on the front seat of the car._  
  
 _Carefully copying Dean’s position, Castiel leans back and looks over to see Dean watching him with a fond smile. He reaches out to grasp Castiel’s hand, lacing their fingers together. A kaleidoscope of colorful stars and planets wheel overhead and they sit in comfortable silence until the dream collapses._  
  
Castiel is left sitting alone in his corner of the Divine Realms, staring up at the far inferior stars above. He’s still in awe of this new relationship he has with Dean, how easy and comfortable it is even when they don’t see eye to eye. The fact that he’s a mortal and not another god has put his life into new perspective. He’s never felt this need to be close to someone, to see them and spend time with them.  
  
All the wonders of the world, and of the dream world, are open before him and none of it seems worthy to share with Dean. He trusts that Dean will let him know if something is off or otherwise wrong about any dream he creates for the two of them, but he also knows that Dean is more than capable of creating an environment the suits him.

 

* * *

  
  
It’s odd, _Dean muses to himself as he waits,_ sitting around and not doing anything while I’m dreaming. _It seems like he should be off wandering around his childhood home or hanging out with people who have been dead and gone for years. Instead, he’s situated himself in what he’s come to think of as a dream home base: a combination of a few different motel rooms from over the years, chosen both for comfort as well as a bit of nostalgia. There’s the king-sized bed, laid with a comforter in stripes of his favorite first green and a dusky blue and soft downy pillows. Metal scrollwork decorations such as mirrors and a godawful coat rack are arranged around the room and the carpet is a shaggy (but clean) off-white._  
  
 _At the moment however, Dean isn’t sitting on the bed. Instead, he’s in the overstuffed chair off to one side - it seemed too presumptuous after their last encounter to wait for Cas on the bed and he didn’t want the god to think he expected they’d have sex. Sex with a god! How awesome is that? Dean is sure Cas has all sorts of tricks even though he seemed a bit reluctant to share the details of his past experiences._  
  
 _And for that matter, what do two gods do for a date? I thought we’d go to the horsehead nebula. Oh, must we, we just went there last week. How about the bottom of the ocean?_  
  
 _Shaking his head with a quiet huff of laughter, he calls out to Cas again. This time he appears right away._  
  
 _“Is something wrong?” Castiel asks as soon as he locates Dean sitting in the dark corner, and then looks around the room with interest as he always does._  
  
 _“No man, I was just hoping to talk to you. Were you busy?” Dean shifts in his seat, wiping his hands on his jeans. Even in a dream, he’s nervous._  
  
 _“I had a few nightmares to attend to. Nothing important.”_  
  
 _“Dude, remind me never to piss you off. I bet the nightmares you create are terrifying.” Dean grins at him and watches the consternated expression play across his face, predictably._  
  
 _“I wouldn’t send you a nightmare simply because I was angry with you, Dean. Oh, I suppose you were teasing.”_  
  
 _“You’re catching on. About what happened last time… I hope you didn’t feel pressured to kiss me or hold my hand or whatever.”_  
  
 _Taking a deep breath as Castiel sits on the edge of the bed closest to him, Dean attempts to close down the inappropriate thoughts about all the things they could do in his dreams on a bed that big._  
  
 _“Dean, I assure you that I did not feel obligated to be intimate with you,” Castiel states and Dean chokes a bit at the word “intimate.” “I’m sorry that I went too fast for you, as well. I talked to a fellow god about human courting practices and realized I may have come on too strong.”_  
  
 _It’s a bit embarrassing that another god knows about how he and Cas are planning to get it on, but he pushes that thought aside. He’ll deal with that later; right now, he has the most amazing of all the gods practically sitting in his lap._  
  
 _“Want to give it another go, then?” Dean swallows down his nervousness and stands, moving towards Cas slightly. “Maybe make out a bit?”_  
  
 _“I would very much like to kiss you again, Dean.”_  
  
 _Reaching for his hand, Dean pulls Cas to his feet and into a tight embrace. “And who am I to let you down?”_  
  
 _Before Cas can even respond, Dean presses his lips to Cas’ and this time, it’s perfect. Kissing someone in a dream, lucid or not, has a ton of potential, since there’s no discomfort to deal with, such as bad breath or neck strain. All Dean’s attention is on the feel of Cas’ lips and then his tongue as he opens up to let Dean’s in. It turns out that not needing to breathe is an added benefit as well, and his mind skips through the possibilities this situation presents them with. Non-existent refractory periods, check. Never getting gross and messy unless they truly want to, check. Lack of gag reflex, triple check._  
  
This is going to be awesome.  
  
 _This time, when Dean swipes the robe off Cas’ shoulders, he catches on and starts to unbutton Dean’s top layer. He groans when he realizes that Dean has another shirt on underneath and Dean laughs into their kiss as he runs his hands along Cas’ bare chest, pulling back to nip at his bottom lip._  
  
 _“Why are you wearing so many clothes?” Cas whines, obviously confused and frustrated._  
  
 _“Just what I always wear,” he assures Cas, but then whips off his undershirt and gets started unbuttoning his pants to save Cas the trouble. When he’s standing in the middle of the room in just his underwear, he can see that Cas seems satisfied. Dean looks dubiously at the cloth Cas has wrapped around his narrow hips._  
  
 _“Gods don’t really wear underwear...” Cas explains, trailing off uncertainly._  
  
 _“Remind me of that if I happen to see any other gods. I will laugh my ass off.”_  
  
 _Castiel looks so uncertain that Dean assures him everything is fine and falls back on the bed, gesturing for Cas to follow. He perches on the edge of the bed awkwardly and Dean pulls him down, rearranging his limbs so he’s tucked up against Dean. Their legs tangle and Cas sighs, a soft smile playing across his lips. “This is very enjoyable.”_  
  
 _“Glad to hear it. How about this?” Dean laughs and slides his hands down Cas’ back until his hands rest on Cas’ ass. Squeezing gently, he pulls Cas in closer and captures his lips once more, this kiss more passionate than any so far._  
  
 _Dean is rewarded with a groan and Cas slides over so he’s completely on top of him. He grinds his hips down into Dean’s and looks down at him with a salacious grin. It looks like Cas knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly how to drive Dean completely crazy._  
  
 _To Dean’s dismay, he can feel the dream coming apart at the seams. “Damn it, not yet.”_  
  
 _“There’s always tomorrow night, Dean,” Cas promises._  
  
 _“I’ll hold you to that,” Dean replies and pulls him close for one last kiss until Castiel disappears._


	3. Part Two

**Present Day**  
  
 _A halo of light draws his attention to a grove of trees along the path he’s following; he feels drawn to it, his feet moving before he realizes he’s walking. The sound of crickets and frogs is heavy in the air, overlaid with a quiet strain of laughter. Every tree is hung with bulbs of illumination, swaying slightly in the breeze. The soft grass gives way to coarse dirt as he steps underneath the overhanging branches of a gigantic oak tree._  
  
 _Looking around, but seeing no one, he reaches out toward one of the hanging lights, tentative at first, then with determination, brushing the pad of one forefinger against the faintly pulsing orb. It shatters, releasing a strobe of light that falls slowly to the ground and the quiet sound of laughter - high-pitched, like a child delighted with the world - explodes into his ears. As the light fades, absorbing into the ground, so does the laughter._  
  
 _In a sudden burst of motion, he taps his fingers against another bulb and then another, releasing two competing melodies into the air. More and more sounds he releases - a cat’s meow, a honking car horn, thunder, a chainsaw - until of a multitude of ghosts are haunting the grove with him. He tastes electricity on his tongue and there are pools of lights expanding then dying on the ground._  
  
 _When the last bulb fades, he’s left in the dark with only the light of the stars above and the feeling that something important has been lost._  
  
A great tearing sound - like the very fabric of the universe is being torn asunder - and the wind shrieking for a brief instant jolts Dean awake and he flails upright, gun in hand and looking for something to aim at. As the noise fades away to silence, he becomes aware of his father sitting up in the motel bed across the room, raising his gun at an unseen enemy. John looks frightened for a moment - eyes wide, mouth set in a thin line - but when he meets Dean’s eyes he forces a neutral expression onto his face.  
  
“What the hell was that?” Dean asks, his voice raspy. He has a sneaking suspicion what it could be; all his life, he’s known that Azazel is one heartbeat away from breaking down the barrier between the Mortal and the Divine Realms, to release all the immortal and supernatural creatures into the world. Could he finally have succeeded? Dean shudders at the thought.  
  
“I don’t know,” John admits hesitantly. He pulls himself out of bed, his ginger movements as he gets dressed giving away his hangover.  
  
Dean sighs, knowing very well what they need to do, and also that John isn’t going to like it one bit. “We need to call Bobby.”  
  
Bobby has the Gift, as well as an extensive magic library and network of mages, immortals and scholars. If anyone knows what’s going on, it will be him. However, after Mary’s death twenty years ago, the relationship between Bobby and Dean’s father has been strained, despite the fact that Bobby had helped John find Sam after he’d been kidnapped. To add insult to injury, Bobby had been the one to insist Sam go to the mage university, and Dean is pretty sure John hasn’t spoken a word to the man since then.  
  
“Yeah, all right,” John grumbles, pulling out his phone and hitting a few buttons. Dean can hear the gruff tone as Bobby picks up, but they manage to get past years of animosity and cut to the chase.  
  
Leaving them to it, Dean gets up and takes a shower, washing off as quick as he can in the lukewarm water. Damn, I hate motel showers so much, he thinks, grimacing at the scratchy towel he pulls around his waist. When he returns to the main room, John is sitting slumped on his bed, phone dropped to the floor.  
  
“What did Bobby have to say?” Dean prompts him after a minute of silence.  
  
“The barrier between us and the Divine Realms is completely gone,” John says, confirming Dean’s earlier suspicion. “We’re in deep shit, now.”  
  
“Fuck.” More than ever, Dean wishes Sam was here with them instead of away at school learning to be a mage. They’re going to need all the help they can get. “We going to Bobby’s?”  
  
“Yeah, the bastard thinks he’s found something that could help,” John says.  
  
While his father stomps into the bathroom to get ready to head out, Dean walks out to the Impala. Opening the trunk, he feels a grim smile form on his face. They’re going to need more salt. And definitely more guns.

 

* * *

  
  
Castiel is walking among his dream-creatures, who seem to be increasingly restless after the barrier between Realms had evaporated, when he hears what sounds like a loud doorbell ring through his domain. "Hello in there!" Castiel recognizes the voice as The Trickster’s and he suppresses an eye roll, appearing at the border of his lands, where Gabriel stands. He's wearing a ridiculous set of bright green robes and sucking on a lollipop, and his eyes widen when he sees Castiel.  
  
—You don't have to wait out here. You may come inside, Gabriel,— Castiel reminds him. Some gods are proprietary about their domains, only allowing a chosen few to enter freely, but that isn’t how the Dream King is.  
  
"I’m not coming in there,” Gabriel protests. “I’ve created my fair share of nightmares, trust me; even I think Casa de Castiel is genuinely terrifying.”  
  
Castiel looks behind him, but the borders look the same as always: a line of trees with a narrow dirt track leading directly to his castle and dream pool. He frowns, turning back to Gabriel.  
  
The other god huffs a sigh and snaps his fingers. “Let’s completely embrace the stereotypes, shall we?”  
  
Now there are blinking red eyes visible through the trees and an old, rotting wooden sign that reads “SHORTCUT” with an arrow pointing down the path. Gabriel guffaws at the expression on Castiel’s face - the Trickster truly thinks he’s hilarious.  
  
—Did you need something or are you here merely to irritate me?— Castiel attempts to interrupt Gabriel’s snorts of laughter.  
  
Taking a deep breath, the Trickster gestures behind him. “The head honchos called a Meeting. Big things are happening, apparently.”  
  
—The other Gods know my stance on the issue of the immortals being free in the Mortal Realms,— Castiel insists. He’s never been hesitant to express his opinion that Mortals are better off with something to fear in their lives, besides the nightmares that the Dream King provides for them. In addition, Castiel hates to be away from his dream pool for any length of time - of course hundreds of years ago before the immortals were banished to the Divine Realms, he spent quite a bit of time with the other gods.  
  
Gabriel must sense his hesitation because he loops an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulls him away from the border of his domain. “Come along, my dark prince. Your dreamers will be fine without you for a bit.”  
  
Giving in, Castiel shrugs off Gabriel’s arm and proceeds to brood as they shift to where the other gods are gathering. The Trickster conjures yet another piece of candy and wiggles his eyebrows at Castiel before they make their presence known. Several of the gods laugh or conceal smiles behind their hands, and Castiel assumes their amusement is aimed at Gabriel’s outfit - though he wears things like that all the time and Castiel doesn’t understand why they’re surprised.  
  
It’s only when Gabriel moves away to go bother someone else and a few gazes are still trained his direction that Castiel wonders if its him they’re laughing at after all. His friend Anael - the Green Lady - approaches with a fond smile on her face.  
  
“I know its been quite awhile since we’ve seen each other, Dream King, but I doubt this is the look you’re going for.” She produces a small mirror and holds it in front of him. In it, he sees that Gabriel must have done more when he snapped his fingers than just change the appearance of Castiel’s home. He also saw fit to add a dark line of eyeliner on each eye, a piercing in his lip, and a ridiculous amount of gel in his hair to hold a riot of spikes sticking straight up into the air. His customary outfit of black robes and a cape is augmented with safety pins running along the edge and a spiked dog collar around his throat. Castiel felt none of these changes, meaning they are merely a glamour cast upon him and he banishes the spell, returning to his usual appearance.  
  
—Thank you, Anael,— he says, his mind voice solemn.  
  
“It is nice to see you, even if your appearance was a bit silly,” she returns, sincerely.  
  
Michael, the Sun God, calls them to order and the gathered gods looks toward him expectantly. “The barrier between the Mortal and Divine Realms has finally fallen completely. I have called this Meeting to discuss how this development will affect us here in the Divine Realms and our concerns in the Mortal Realms.”  
  
A clamor of voices rises and Michael demands order. Holding back a groan, Castiel settles into a seat. This could take awhile.

 

* * *

  
  
 **City of the Gods**  
  
Though it’s been an hour since the warning bells fell silent and Sam returned to his room after the meeting in the Great Hall, the headache that had bloomed in the front of his skull that morning is still pulsing painfully behind his eyes. He sighs, rubbing a hand across his brow. A moment later he feels a pair of hands slide across his shoulders and start to massage the tension from his muscles.  
  
“Mmmm, hey,” he mumbles, dropping his head to his folded arms.  
  
“You’ve been staying up too late again, Sam,” Jess admonishes in a whisper, her hands concentrating on that painful spot where his neck meets his shoulders.  
  
Whenever Jess is with him, Sam finally feels the darkness in his mind recede. He'd become adept at hiding it away or sometimes even forgetting it was there, but no matter what, it is always lurking just under the surface ready to lash out. No matter how many hours late into the night he spends looking, none of the books in the school's extensive library have held any answers for the way he would sometimes get so angry with the world and feel tempted to burn it all down, or the way, especially when he was tired, the light green of his magic would gain a dark shadow that looked like poison.  
  
He is so lucky to have a best friend like Jess. Any feelings above and beyond that he can keep to himself.  
  
“Why don’t you get some rest?” Jess suggests, tugging slightly on one of Sam’s hand to get him out of his chair and into bed.  
  
“I need to send a message to my brother...” he protests as he lets her pull him to his feet. He thinks of all the things he’ll need to ask Dean, whether he has any immediate plans and what sort of creatures they’ve been dealing with up to now. Sam knows very well that Dean will be doing his best to support their father as he throws himself into hunting the new influx of creatures, and wishes he could do more to help. He’s never agreed with the rest of his family that all immortals need to be eliminated - some aren’t as evil as his dad would like to believe - but now Sam knows that will be a hard sell.  
  
A fond look crosses Jess’ face; she’s been on the other end of endless rants and homesick breakdowns regarding his family for years. “Can that wait until later today?”  
  
He drags his feet, purposefully making it difficult for Jess to help him across the room. She plays along, taking both his hands and leaning all her weight against his.  
  
“I guess so,” he agrees, carefully moving forward so she doesn’t fall over. Finally he flops into bed, face down, and Jess runs a hand through his hair. He leans into the touch, as always so glad that he has Jess in his life to keep him honest and make sure he gets any sleep at all.  
  
“Do you think you’ll be leaving? You know, to help your brother?” She asks, in a carefully neutral tone.  
  
He rolls to his side, looking up at her. She has a small smile on her face, but won’t meet his eyes and he gives in to the urge he’s been feeling since he heard the gates to the Divine Realms are open for good. “I’ll have to finish this semester, probably, but yes. Will you come with me? When I go to visit my family?”  
  
Jess meets his eyes at last, entirely surprised that he would suggest it. “Yes, Sam. Of course.”  
  
“Good.” He presses his face into the pillow and mumbles, “Now go away, I want to take a nap.”  
  
She laughs, patting his back and closes the door quietly on her way out.

 

* * *

  
  
In the mere six months its been since the gate to the Divine Realms fully opened, Castiel has noticed an upswing in the number of nightmares not of his own creation. Now there are vampires, stormwings and spidrens mixed in with the usual endless hallways, drowning in freezing seas and lights that won’t turn on. He finds he has more time to merely observe dreams in a way he hasn’t had for the last two hundred years, and as always is fascinated and slightly disturbed by the things humans dream about.  
  
Feeling a familiar pull, Castiel submerges in his dream pool.  
  
 _He appears next to Dean in an unfamiliar room. Usually, if they’re not standing in some far-flung locale on Earth, they’re in one of the many motel rooms Dean can conjure from his memories. This room looks as though it’s underground, with no windows to be seen, and is painted a neutral beige. Swords are hung on display on the walls, a few pictures and other knick-knacks arranged around the space. In the middle of the room, Dean is lying on a large bed covered in soft-looking brown blankets, looking very comfortable and at ease._  
  
 _“What is this room?” Castiel asks by way of a greeting._  
  
 _Dean sits up with a grin. “It’s my bedroom! We were looking through some of the Men of Letters documents my dad had and found a map to their headquarters. It’s a bunker in Kansas.” He pats the bed. “There’s enough space that we can each have our own room and the water pressure is freakin’ awesome!”_  
  
 _Now that he knows this is a place Dean decorated himself, Castiel takes another look around. The room is a bit sparse, but he knows Dean was never a fan of the ridiculous colors and decor of the motel rooms from the past._  
  
 _“There’s a ton of papers and books in the library,” Dean continues. “Sammy is having book-induced orgasms trying to look through everything. We’ve found some really interesting spells and rituals.”_  
  
 _Not liking the sound of that at all, Castiel stands up straight, putting a bit of authority in his voice. “Dean, you need to be careful. There are things out there you don’t want to mess with.” He could see Dean’s expression turning skeptical, so he added, “Horrible things that could be released into the Mortal Realms.”_  
  
 _“What, like worse than what’s already out there?” Dean scoffs._  
  
 _“Yes, Dean. There are many things better left in the Divine Realms or even the Peaceful Realms.”_  
  
 _“We’ll be careful,” Dean says with a shrug, entirely confident. Castiel will keep this in mind, however; they are not done talking about this._  
  
 _“Come here,” Dean says, gesturing to the bed._  
  
 _Sitting down next to Dean, Castiel is again impressed by the detail he is able to put into his dream creations. The bed sinks slightly as he shifts and Castiel can imagine it would be very comfortable in the real world. “Do you enjoy having your own room, after all those years of sharing motel rooms?” Castiel asks, honestly curious._  
  
 _“Oh, hell yeah. I don’t have to deal with my dad’s snoring or... his moods.” Dean looks away for a minute. “And it means I can get away with all sorts of inappropriate things,” he finishes with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and suddenly they both are only wearing boxers. Castiel thinks about reminding Dean that this is a dream so he’s always free to do what he wants without being disturbed, but he knows Dean is just being silly._  
  
 _Dean sprawls backward on the bed, arms stretched over his head. All other thoughts are pushed aside as Castiel focuses on Dean, eyes skimming over his body as he pulls in a large lungful of unnecessary breath._  
  
 _“What sort of inappropriate things?” Castiel teases as he crawls up the bed, stopping when his head is level with Dean’s hips._  
  
 _“Oh you know.” Dean bucks his hips slightly, and Castiel takes the cue, making Dean’s boxers disappear. Dean drags in a harsh breath and looks up at Castiel through his eyelashes._  
  
 _This intimacy between them still feels new, and the possibilities are huge around them. Cas lets Dean take the reins most times, partly because he’s fascinated by the man’s abilities and imagination, but he knows that sometimes Dean wants to give up control and just feel as much as he can in the constraints of the dream. Being a god, Castiel doesn’t know what life in general feels like to a mortal, not to mention what sex feels like. But he can imagine, as he wraps his lips around Dean’s cock, that it must feel pretty good._  
  
 _Dean moans loudly, and several of the objects in the room morph and fade as Dean loses control of the dream. Castiel brings gentle bonds into being, scarves made of pure light weaving themselves from the air and settling around Dean’s limbs. The bonds signal to Dean that he can let go, and trust Castiel to take care of him. Nothing can ever harm Dean here, not only because he can control the outcome of any dream should he choose to do so, but because he knows Cas will protect him._  
  
 _Dean has often said that some sensations are downplayed in dreams and some are amplified. Castiel has made it his mission to find out which is which and to manipulate how intense each of their intimate dreams together are. Time is odd in dreams, naturally, so when Castiel is in charge like this he can make it feel like hours and hours for Dean, simply taking him apart over and over._  
  
 _The edges of the dream quiver as Dean comes, but Castiel exerts a bit of power to keep the dream together for a few more minutes. He can’t control it if someone is on the verge of waking up, but in this case Dean was about to transition to another phase of sleep, and Castiel can hold that off briefly._  
  
 _They lie side by side - Dean grinning madly - and Castiel feels an intense rush of love for this mortal. How he wishes he could be with Dean in real life, where they could both feel every touch to its fullest potential. He leans over, pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead, and lets the dream dissolve._

 

* * *

  
  
 **Men of Letters Bunker**  
  
In Sam’s message, he had mentioned he was bringing “a friend” but Dean had expected a guy around Sam’s age or maybe a wizened old teacher. He certainly hadn’t expected Jess - a beautiful young woman who is completely smitten with Sam if her longing looks are anything to go by. Sam seems completely oblivious, but of course he always was when he was in the middle of obsessing over something magical.  
  
Dean is surprised when Sam pulls him aside a few days after he arrives and demands to know what is up with him.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I mean you look happy. You’re as focused on hunting as ever, but you don’t look worried or stressed. Or tired. That’s what it is! You look really well-rested. Have you been sleeping well lately?”  
  
Dean is hardly going to admit to Sam that he’s been sleeping more so he can have sex with the King of Dreams in increasingly creative dreamscapes.  
  
“I guess so, dude. Just realized that I can’t keep going on four hours a night, you know?”  
  
“Hmmm, yeah, I guess,” Sam seems to buy his reasoning for the time being. “Glad to hear it.”  
  
He rubs the back of his neck, looking past Sam’s shoulder. “What about you, huh? Been spending any time between the sheets with that lovely young lady you brought home?” Dean teases, enjoying the sight of the blush that rises on Sam’s cheeks.  
  
“Dean, come on, grow up. Jess is just a fellow student. She’s so talented and her Gift is so strong. It has two colors, can you believe it? I’d only heard stories about people with that kind of magic…”  
  
It’s so obvious to Dean that Sam is just as gone on Jess as she is on him, but he’s content to let the two of them figure that out. They go back to the main room and join John and Jess where they’re sitting in an awkward silence.  
  
Dean’s dad never much approved of magicians, saying that it seemed like cheating to use magic instead of the strength of your own two hands. Dean figures part of it is jealousy and he’ll admit that once Sam started exhibiting signs of having the Gift Dean felt a bit envious. However he knows that if anyone can master magic and use it to its full advantage, its Sam. Dean would just fuck things up if he had that sort of power in the real world; having power in the land of dreams doesn’t count.  
  
Putting on his best fake-enthusiastic smile, Dean looks around the group surrounding him and asks, “So what are we gonna do about all these creatures?”

 

* * *

  
  
Two weeks after Sam arrives, they drag themselves back to the bunker from yet another brutal hunt, except this time they had faced an even more formidable threat than usual. She had called herself Abaddon, the Queen of Chaos, and she had kicked their asses from one side of the city park to the other. She had powers that didn’t belong in this world, including the ability to call up creatures more fearsome and disturbing than they had ever faced before.  
  
Among the worst were the pale, faceless beings that had slowly advanced toward them, killing all living things and skinning any animal unfortunate enough to cross their path. They had no eyes, ears, noses, or mouths, and refused to die by any standard means. Sam had dubbed them Skinners.  
  
Taunting the Winchesters as she threw them around, Abbadon waxed poetic about how she and the most powerful warlock in the world, Azazel, were going to lay waste to the Mortal Realms and rule over everyone. In the end, Sam cast a Binding spell over her and her creatures, which was just strong enough to allow them to escape.  
  
Once they reach the safety of home and Jess is darting around the room attempting to clean up their many wounds, the men look around at each other with solemn looks. Finally, Dean decides he has had enough.  
  
“We can’t keep doing this. The Men of Letters closed the barrier once, we can do it again,” he says, holding his head in his hands dejectedly.  
  
Sam scoffs in disagreement. “That ritual needs a human sacrifice, remember?”  
  
“Oh yeah, sorry, Sammy,” Dean says and grimaces.  
  
“Maybe there’s something we can use down in the archives,” John suggests.  
  
“We’ve been looking, but haven’t found much that could be useful. We’ll start again as soon as I get cleaned up,” Sam promises, looking over at Jess. She appears to be on the cusp of protesting, perhaps suggesting they all get some rest, but then she takes a deep breath and nods.  
  
John stomps off to the kitchen to get something to drink and Dean leans back in his chair.  
  
 _The water surrounding him is so still that it reflects the entirety of the sky. Vast galaxies and colorful nebulae spin above and below as he sits in the small boat, the coast line just visible in the distance. The smalls flickering light on the shore trying valiantly to reassure him that it still exists. He looks over the edge of the boat, searching for his reflection in the mirror of the water, but the image of his face does not appear._  
  
 _He approaches the four rocks in the middle of the ocean, his boat moving forward of its own volition, and feels the salty breeze like a caress over his face. There is a humming noise, carrying a faintly recognizable tune, that gets progressively louder as he gets ever closer to the rocks in the water. He can’t tell if they are floating on the surface or sunk so deep in the water that  they are anchored to the floor of the ocean._  
  
 _A voice that exists in his head and everywhere else at once demands to be heard. “Who are you?”_  
  
 _“I am no one,” he answers, the knowledge of what to say materializing in his mind like he always knew. “I have come to find myself.”_  
  
 _The water begins to roil and his boat rocks alarmingly; the four spikes sitting above the waterline turn out to be the spines on the neck of a huge reptilian creature who raises one eye even with his face, leveling a look at him that might have motivated him to run away if he hadn’t been stuck in a boat._  
  
 _“There is one place you have yet to look,” the creature says, and opens his mouth, swallowing him up and he’s surrounded by darkness._  
  
Waking with a start, Dean flails around for a moment before he realizes he fell asleep in a chair in the war room. Groaning, he drags himself up and shuffles to the kitchen, finding his dad passed out at the table. He goes about making some scrambled eggs, as quietly as he can.  
  
“Dean!” his brother calls from the next room, rushing into the kitchen with a dusty old book in his hands. John snorts and sits up, looking around blearily, and Sam doesn’t spare him a glance as he rushes to Dean’s side. Setting the food aside, Dean sits at the table as Jess enters the kitchen, smiling softly at Sam’s excitement.  
  
“We found a way to get to the Divine Realms so we can tell the gods what’s going on. They have to do something - this has gone beyond supernatural. That Abaddon... she’s pure evil.”  
  
“I thought you were looking for weapons we could use, Sam,” John says accusingly. “Why are you wasting your time on this shit?”  
  
“Killing isn’t always the answer,” Sam protests, stepping back to stand next to Jess.  
  
“Killing Azazel is the answer,” John insists.  
  
“No, dad, it really isn’t. He may have started this whole thing by destroying the barrier, but he and Abaddon are symptoms and we really need to take care of the cause.”  
  
“That mage school has made you soft, boy. Dean agrees with me, doesn’t he? He doesn’t think we need to go begging the gods to help us.” He looks over at Dean, who sinks lower in his chair. He sees his dad’s eyes flash angrily as he spits, “I know what Sam’s problem is-“ he gestures in Jess’ general direction “-but who’s got your balls in a vice grip?”  
  
“Dad!” Sam protests, and Jess lays a hand on his arm.  
  
Dean still has no answer for John, who scoffs and stomps out of the room. They stand awkwardly in silence until John comes back in, holding his duffel bag. “I’m going to find Azazel. Are you coming, Dean?”  
  
“No, I’m going to help Sammy.”  
  
John just glares around at them before exiting the bunker. They heave a collective sigh and settle around the table in the library.  
  
“Tell him what you found,” Jess prompts quietly after the uncomfortable silence has stretched on too long.  
  
“Right! I think this spell will let one of us go through to the Divine Realms, if we can get everything together by the Winter Solstice.”  
  
“That’s in a week!” Dean protests.  
  
“I realize that,” Sam says with an eye roll. “But it’s our best chance.”  
  
“Fine. What do we need to do?”


	4. Chapter 4

At the dawn of the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, three people gather in the snow in the middle of an abandoned field in Kansas. They arrange a circle of stones, with a larger one for each of the four directions, and place a bowl in the center. Inside the bowl, they place a feather, some herbs and a cord of string. The tallest of the three lights a match, dropping it into the bowl, and as a group they speak the invocation.  
  
As they finish the chant, Dean looks up over the smoldering ashes and sees a patch of air, burning silvery white. Hesitantly he steps forward, looking over his shoulder at Sam and Jess. Jess’ eyes are wide, arms crossed over her chest defensively, but Sam stands tall, ready to finish the spell and close the portal once Dean has gone through.  
  
He steps through and his whole body feels like it is being stretched and pulled. Every inch of him hurts as he stumbles forward into a vast landscape that looks nothing like he’s ever seen before. The whole world goes grey, but he forces himself to stay conscious until the pain becomes a dull, steady ache. Glancing up, he finds two blurred faces hanging over him; he squints as his vision clears and finds there are two gods, both grinning madly.  
  
One god is short, with long, sandy-colored hair and bright gold eyes and strangely, Dean sees that the god is eating some licorice. He focuses on the other god briefly, who is blond and taller than the other, wearing a ridiculous v-neck shirt and tight pants.  
  
“Who do we have here?” the shorter god asks, waving his licorice in the air.  
  
“Looks like a measly little mortal to me,” the other god says in a pompous tone.  
  
“Nothing measly about me, jackass,” Dean grumbles, pulling himself onto his hands and knees, then to a crouch.  
  
“Oooh, he’s got some attitude, don’t he?” the god with the sweet tooth says.  
  
“Wait a moment, I know who this is.”  
  
Both Dean and the shorter god look to the blond, equally disbelieving expressions on their faces.  
  
“Dean Winchester, is it not?”  
  
“Um, yes, but how -“  
  
“Years ago, you went to a Seer to find out about the King of Dreams. I intercepted her rather clumsy Summons and fed her the bare minimum of information. I thought that would be the end of it, but apparently not?” The god smirks. “Are you here to see dear old Cassie?”  
  
“No,” Dean answers with a glare. “I’m going to ask the gods to stop Abaddon and shut the gates to the Divine Realms.”  
  
Both gods begin to laugh, the shorter of the two nearly doubling over in glee.  
  
“Are all gods such dicks?” Dean mutters to himself, finally clambering to his feet. He sways, bracing himself on what looks to be a tree, and attempts to walk away in the opposite direction. His legs are still shaky from the trip between realms, but he does his best to hide it.  
  
“Hold on, hold on,” one of them calls. “We can’t have you wandering around all by your lonesome.”  
  
Turning back, he sees that the short god has stepped forward and looks like he’s going to try to catch Dean if he falls over. “I’m the Trickster God - but you can call me Gabriel - and this here is Balthazar, the God of Love. We’ll take you somewhere safe.”  
  
Choosing to ignore that the smarmy bastard giving him a once over is the God of Love - that’s just disturbing - he waves off Gabriel’s offer of a steadying hand. He stands tall, following them as they amble down a path that seems to appear as they walk - he glances over his shoulder - and disappears after they pass. They walk through forests, through what looks to be a town, through scenes more fantastical than any he’s imagined.  
  
There is just so much to look at; Dean can’t seem to settle on one thing. All the various gods in their true forms, the reality-defying buildings and landscapes, not to mention the sky, which looks nothing like the sky he’s used to. His neck is getting a crick from craning around as he walks with Balthazar and Gabriel until finally they arrive at a small house. It looks like any normal house, except for the trees that are growing through it, forming part of the structure. The garden out front is a sight to behold.  
  
A feminine figure emerges from the front door, but her skin is green and she looks oddly like a plant. From behind her comes another god with a pale face framed by an unruly mane of dark hair, and he looks startlingly familiar -  
  
“Cas?” Dean asks incredulously. The Dream King’s eyes open wide and Dean is drawn into those shadowy pits that stretch into infinity. Staring into them, he thinks that he sees the movement of stars in the distance. He shakes himself from his daze. “Hey, buddy, its good to see you.”  
  
The god’s eyes flick to the side, and instead of answering Dean he seems to give Gabriel a meaningful glance. Dean turns to look as well, and the Trickster gives him a sheepish expression. “We can all communicate telepathically, Deano. But Castiel here is the only one who can’t talk to mortals at all, only in dreams.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Dean manages not to shout, but only barely. “Is he messing with me, man?” He steps closer to Castiel, and he can feel the raw power emanating from the being he has long considered his closest friend.  
  
Castiel shakes his head ‘no’ and looks at Gabriel once again. “The morose dude here wants me to tell you that he’s sorry.”  
  
“What?” Dean starts, and before he gets any further, Castiel is gone.  
  
“He's terrible at goodbyes,” remarks Gabriel. “But hey! You must be hungry, right? You’re human, you’re always hungry.”  
  
Before Dean can protest that gross oversimplification, he’s led into the house and introduced to Anael, also known as the Green Lady. Food materializes before him, but he gets the sense that it’s not real, just some sort of facsimile of food. He stays and chats until the sun goes down - again he has the sense that the environment is just going through the motions, because why would there need to be a sun and weather - and Anael offers him a bed in her guest room. It’s been an overwhelming day so he accepts, trying not to feel too suspicious of all these strange beings.  
  
 _Castiel is waiting for him, sitting cross-legged in an endless meadow. Dean approaches slowly, kicking up swarms of butterflies and puffs of dandelion fluff. Rising gracefully to his feet, Cas hesitates to approach him, so Dean steps forward and pulls him into a hug._  
  
 _“I’m sorry, Dean,” he says, muffled against Dean’s shoulder. “I never expected to see you in person...”_  
  
 _“It was kinda weird, yeah,” Dean agrees. “Just wish you’d told me you couldn't talk to mortals. You are a very unique god, aren’t you?”_  
  
 _“Like you mortals, I have one foot in the Divine Realms, the other in Chaos. Lately that's been a most uncomfortable position,” Cas explains._  
  
 _Dean hums in agreement._  
  
 _“I hope you can forgive me,” Castiel says ominously._  
  
 _“For what?” Dean asks._  
  
Dean wakes up with a sneeze before Cas can explain, and feels like there is something sitting on his chest. Once he pries his eyes open, he finds that there is indeed something on his chest and it’s the reason he was sneezing. Black as night, with startling purple eyes, the cat tilts its head and looks at him as if he holds the secrets of the universe.  
  
—Good morning— the cat says, apparently directly into Dean’s head.  
  
He sputters for a moment and then answers, tentatively, —Good morning to you too!—  
  
The cat winces and says back, —not so loud, human.—  
  
—Sorry— Dean thinks, as quietly as he can manage.  
  
—I can see we’re going to have some trouble with you, aren’t we.—  
  
Dean shakes his head emphatically, but the cat just chuckles and slinks off Dean’s chest to the floor, where he begins to bathe. —Breakfast is in the kitchen. Anna needed to run to the Mortal realms on an emergency situation so she left me to watch over you.— He’s about to protest needing a babysitter when he sees a dangerous glint in the god’s eye that reminds him strongly of a jaguar. Yeah, he has no idea what he’s up against here and he probably shouldn’t question the judgement of beings that have been here a lot longer than he has.  
  
Looking at the array of foods spread out for him on the kitchen table, Dean decides he’s going to look past the unreal sheen on everything and just enjoy his time here. He’s in the Divine Realms! Who knows if he’ll ever see this place again. Doubtful, he thinks. There’s pancakes and eggs cooked just the way he likes them, and he fills a plate before going to sit on the front porch. He can hear bees buzzing in the herb garden off to his right and birds fly overhead, chirping their cheerful morning songs.  
  
The cat ambles out of the house to sit next to him, his sleek tail swishing along the wooden planks of the porch. Without warning, the cat darts into the garden and Dean is instantly on alert, sure there’s some hidden danger out there ready to attack. Moments later, however, the cat comes back with a mouse clamped in its jaws and it looks entirely too satisfied with itself. Dean settles back into his chair, avoiding looking at the cat eating its meal. His attention is caught by movement at the edge of the garden; a mouse that looks identical to the one lying dead on the porch stands up and makes a surprisingly offensive hand gesture, then runs away.  
  
“What was that?” Dean demands.  
  
—All the creatures here - except you of course - are gods. Kill them here in the Divine Realms and they will simply manifest again.—  
  
—So why bother? —  
  
—I must keep my skills sharp.—  
  
Dean nods at that, understanding entirely too well, and they fall into companionable silence. Before long, the cat stands, tail high in the air, and Dean follows its line of sight to the path leading to the house where the Green Lady is making her way home. Another figure comes along behind her, and Dean realizes with a lurch that it is the King of Dreams himself.  
  
When they come face to face and again, Dean remembers the brief dream they shared while he was sleeping, but the god gives no indication of what he’s thinking. Dean could no more read the emotion in those shadowy eyes now than he had been able to the last time he met their gaze. The sound of Anael clearing her throat delicately breaks their staring contest and Dean ducks his head. A glance at Cas reveals a neutral expression, but he knows that’s standard for the god.  
  
Dean tries to get Castiel to talk to him, with Gabriel as a translator, but the Dream King won’t answer more than the most basic questions. He finally gives Dean a pained look as he suggests that they head to the meeting of the gods.

 

* * *

  
  
Castiel leads the group to where the gods are preparing to meet about the crisis in the Mortal Realms. He watches as Dean looks around like he can’t believe his eyes, and Castiel can’t blame him. It’s an impressive sight: the gods gathered around the massive amphitheater, clamoring and gesturing. It’s open to the clouds - no ceilings necessary in the Divine Realms - and is bright and airy. They sit near the center on the wide, comfortable benches circling the amphitheater.  
  
Despite the pleasant surroundings, Dean looks anxious. Knowing very well that Dean went to a lot of trouble to get here and feels like he is solely responsible for the interests of mortals, Castiel hopes he’ll get the answers he’s desperately seeking. The fact that he can’t communicate directly with Dean weighs heavily on him - he wishes he could reassure his friend. Never before has Castiel had reason to be upset that he can’t talk to mortals, but today he despairs. He hates to rely on Gabriel of all people to translate for him, but thankfully Anael is present as well and she will do her best to communicate with Dean in Castiel’s stead.  
  
The meeting is called to order and Michael stands to address the group. “There is a mortal here who would like to present his case.”  
  
A low rumble of laughter and whispering erupts among the gods and Michael calls for silence. Once the crowd has settled, Michael gestures for Dean to step forward. Castiel can see the man’s hands shaking before he shoves them in his pockets. Castiel wishes he could comfort his friend, but knows his interference would not be welcome.  
  
Clearing his throat, Dean looks around at all the gods gathered in front of him. “Uh, hey there, your godlinesses.“  
  
Michael quirks an eyebrow at Dean’s style of address, but gestures for him to continue.  
  
“I’m here to ask you to pull the Queen of Chaos out of the Mortal Realms and close the barrier between realms once and for all. My family and I have spent our entire lives fighting supernatural creatures and immortals. We’ve seen the damage they can do to people and their families. These beings don’t belong in the Mortal Realms.”  
  
The gods discuss this at length and Dean remains standing, shifting from foot to foot.  
  
When it is Castiel’s turn to speak, he gathers his thoughts and steps forward. —For nearly three centuries, I have labored with human dreams.— He keeps his mind voice firm, determined to get his point across. —The immortals evoke rich dreams without my striving. Mortal spirits were poorer with the immortals gone, human imagination less fertile. I have enjoyed a few years' relief from a thankless task. Will you cripple me twice, brother?—  
  
There is muttering among the gods and he dares a look toward Dean, who does not look pleased. He knows it’s not what the man came to hear, but Castiel can’t change what he believes. He knows he is right. Glancing at Castiel once, Dean’s stern expression falters for a moment, but then he squares his shoulders and redirects his attention to whatever Anael is saying.  
  
A few others stand to speak, but finally Michael calls for silence once more.  
  
"Very well. It is decided that we will deal with the Queen of Chaos, forcing her back to the realms of the gods where she belongs, but otherwise we will not meddle in the affairs of the mortals. The gate to the Divine Realms is open and that is how it is meant to be, how it was before time was time. This gathering is adjourned."  
  
Dean looks around wildly as the gods begin to disperse and Anael leans close, discussing the verdict with him. An angry expression clouds his face - one Castiel is familiar with but has never been on the receiving end of - and he narrows his eyes at Castiel.

 

* * *

  
  
Dean doesn’t seek out the Dream King for the rest of his stay in the Divine Realms and Cas stays holed up wherever it is that he lives. Anael attempts once to invite Cas to come visit them, but he declines, claiming he left his dream pool for long enough. In all honesty, Dean would rather not see Castiel again for awhile; he can’t believe that his best friend would betray him like that. He’s told Castiel about how dangerous it is to have supernatural creatures popping up everywhere. Who cares about how hard it is for Castiel to make nightmares while he’s safe in his little corner of the Divine Realms?  
  
Once the business of Abbadon is dealt with, each of the gods goes back to their own corners of the realms and Dean decides it’s past time that he returns home. Anael tells him there is no other way but to wait until the time of Imbolc at the beginning of February, when the passage is easier for mortals, but that is more than a month away and he definitely doesn’t want to stay that long.  
  
The black cat finally tells Dean that he might be able to convince a dragon to take him back - and ain’t that a trip, actual dragons! - so he leaves the home of the Green Lady, traveling across the Divine Realms to the Dragonlands. According to the cat, one dragon keeps to herself, living away from the others, and apparently she has a fondness for mortals. Long ago, when the immortals travelled freely in the Mortal Realms, she would fly there often.  
  
After a long journey, Dean finds her cave and proposes that the time is right to make a journey to the Mortal Realms once more. She agrees, and they fly together, landing outside the bunker in Kansas. In the midst of the dust stirred by her wings, Sam comes running out the door, shock evident on his face.  
  
With shaky legs, Dean dismounts, and lies on the ground, never before so grateful to be on solid ground. He decides he’d be happy if he never had to fly again.  
  
The dragon leaves, blowing another huge gust of wind around them, and when the dirt and leaves settle, Dean sits up. “I’ve got bad news, Sammy. The gods aren’t going to help us.”  
  
“What?” Sam yells, incredulous.  
  
“They’re going to pull Abaddon back into the Divine Realms but we’re stuck with the rest of the supernatural creatures.”  
  
“Well that's good. At least we won't have to deal with her anymore,” Sam says.  
  
“Yeah, I guess. Thanks to that jerk Castiel, it’s all we’re getting.”  
  
“Who’s Castiel?”  
  
“The God of Dreams.” Dean stands, brushing off his jeans. “Are you hungry? I’ll make us some burgers.”

 

* * *

  
  
 _The forest is ancient, the trees so huge he couldn't wrap his arms halfway around the trunks if he tried and so tall they disappear into the low clouds above. It seems to exist in perpetual twilight, everything desaturated to a monochromatic palette of greys. Feeling a chill on the back of his neck, Dean looks around but sees nothing, just fog creeping among the tree trunks._  
  
 _This is a place where a soul is trapped, when one cannot pass from one realm to another._  
  
 _He walks, relentlessly. He’s so thirsty and so hungry, but somehow he knows it would be a bad idea to drink from the springs he’s seen or to eat any of the small animals he might be able to catch._  
  
 _All around there are sounds without a visible source: twigs snapping, shrieks and cries, the occasional howl of what could be a wolf. He hopes it's merely a wolf. A chill snakes up his spine. The weight of the blade strapped to his back is comforting._  
  
 _Suddenly, from the edge of his vision, he spots a figure as it breaks from the trees and he takes chase. Crashing through the underbrush, he slowly gains on his prey before it stumbles, pressing its back against a tree. It looks human - Dean knows better._  
  
 _"Where's the angel?" Dean demands, wrapping a hand around the creature's throat. He reaches back to grab his blade; the creature writhes and whimpers in his grasp._  
  
 _"I don't know," it says, its voice raising to a squeak._  
  
 _"Wrong answer," Dean growls, pulling back to swing his blade. At the last moment, the creature's fangs descend and it hisses - Dean cuts off its head in one smooth stroke._  
  
 _Without a backward glance, Dean stalks out of the clearing in search of another creature to interrogate. One after another they all blur together, until at last he gets a different answer._  
  
 _"The angel... He's by the river..." the werewolf pants, her eyes clamped shut._  
  
 _Dean pauses in his downswing and when the creature doesn't elaborate, he shakes it roughly by the throat. "Where?"_  
  
 _"Just over that hill.” She gestures with a shaking hand._  
  
 _When Dean raises his blade again, the werewolf's eyes widen. "I told you so you wouldn't kill me!"_  
  
 _"When did we make that arrangement?" he replies, following through, and smiles savagely when the thing is dead._  
  
 _Over the hill, crunching through fallen leaves and sidestepping rocks, he sees a bend in the river. There, crouching by the water and taking a drink, is the angel. "Cas!" Dean calls._  
  
 _Castiel looks up, and stands smoothly, walking toward Dean. There's something strange about his face and he's wearing what appears to be dirty white scrubs. He says nothing, tilting his head._  
  
 _"Where you been?" Dean asks, stepping closer. He can see black streaks beneath Cas' skin, reaching up his neck. Again he moves closer, more hesitantly this time._  
  
 _Cas' mouth opens wide, huge, sharp teeth flashing as he opens his mouth and rushes forward -_  
  
Dean jerks awake and lies in bed panting until his breath and heartbeat return to normal. As has been his routine for the past few weeks, he gets up and wanders the halls of the bunker. It’s the middle of the night; nevertheless, he sits at the kitchen table and nurses some of the whiskey his dad left behind. He’s still drinking when Sam and Jess wake up.  
  
Sam gives him a pointed look and asks, “Couldn’t sleep? Again?”  
  
“Bad dreams,” Dean mumbles, setting his empty glass down on the table loudly. He sees Jess and Sam exchange a worried glance and gets to his feet. “I’m gonna go watch some TV.”

 

* * *

  
  
Attempting to put the pieces together in his head, Sam considers what he knows. Dean seems to hold the Dream King responsible for the lack of response from the gods, and knowing his brother, he probably gave the god a piece of his mind and royally pissed off Castiel. Now Dean is having nightmares on an almost nightly basis - it stands to reason that Castiel is sending him these dreams in retaliation.  
  
Three weeks after Dean’s journey to the Divine Realms, Sam is lying on the floor in a room on the bottom level of the bunker, performing a spell that will Summon the King of Dreams. Sam recites the last line and his eyelids droop, and the last thing he sees is the worried expression of the woman he loves. Jess’ eyes widen as he falls asleep and he has a fleeting moment of panic when he realizes he must have said that last bit out loud.  
  
 _He is standing in the foyer of a huge, dark keep. He doesn’t see much more than walls of stone and empty suits of armor, but there is a sense of foreboding that lays heavy over his shoulders like a cloak. He begins to shuffle forward, sensing he will find what he seeks through the large, wooden doors in from of him. Opening one, he sees a grand hall, overgrown with vines and hung with cobwebs. It takes all Sam’s willpower to continue on and he feels the phantom breath of creatures unseen nipping at his heels._  
  
 _Vaguely, he can see a large throne at the end of the hall, and suddenly he’s transported so he stands immediately before it. The Dream King looks down at Sam from where he sits, perched stiffly upon the wooden chair. Daring to meet his eyes, Sam gets lost in the swirl of the entire universe._  
  
 _“Why have you Summoned me?” The Dream King asks and Sam can hear the ‘puny human’ implied at the end of that question. It feels as though he’s spoken directly into Sam’s head, yet the room reverberates with his voice all the same._  
  
 _Dropping to one knee and bowing his head, Sam feels the oppressive sense of doom is lifted slightly and he can breathe easily once more._  
  
 _“Oh, mighty Dream King,” Sam begins, looking up at the god’s neutral expression. His eyes look somewhat more human, though Sam can barely stand to look at them for more than a moment. “I called you so I might find some answers.”_  
  
 _The Dream King has no response to that, and simply waits for Sam to state his case._  
  
 _“I want to know why you have been sending nightmares to my brother,” Sam says all in a rush. “Dean Winchester.” His name comes out almost like a question and Sam adds, “please, sir.”_  
  
 _He does not immediately answer and silence falls over the hall, broken only by a shuffling noise to Sam’s left. He senses it is one of the creatures he glimpsed earlier; he does not glance over to investigate._  
  
 _“I have done no such thing, Sam Winchester,” the Dream King answers at last, your voice less bone-shaking but still commanding. “You may rise.”_  
  
 _With a jolt, Sam realized he’s still kneeling, the corner of a flagstone digging into his kneecap. He groans, standing with stiffness and pain that has suddenly made itself known._  
  
 _“This seems so real for a dream,” Sam observes offhand, then remembers whose company he shares and ducks his head._  
  
 _“Sam.” He can hear the request in his voice and meets his gaze once more. “We are in a place between dreaming and wakefulness. Mortals sometimes call it lucid dreaming.”_  
  
 _The scholar in Sam kicks into full gear and he can feel the excitement building inside him. “So I can change anything I want about this place?”_  
  
 _“You may attempt to, yes,” comes the cryptic answer._  
  
 _First things first, Sam decides they need more light in the room; it’s so gloomy. With a grin, he concentrates all his efforts into letting the sun shine through the windows high above them, but all he accomplishes is a slight parting of the clouds. Frustrated, he sees one side of the Dream King’s mouth quirk up in amusement and raising a hand, the god fills the hall with sunlight, banishing the ghostly pall over the creatures in the room. Sam can see now that they are somewhat dog-like, huge with very sharp teeth. When he looks back around, he sees the Dream King’s expression appears to be slightly fond._  
  
 _Forcing himself back to the task at hand, he reiterates his demands. “Dean hasn’t been sleeping much since he came back from the Divine Realms and when he does, he wakes up shaking and freaked out. He’s drinking again. I want to know why. I know he disagreed with you and maybe he yelled at you? I was hoping you might forgive him…”_  
  
 _For the first time, something more than a flicker of emotion passes over the Dream King’s face. He would almost say the god looks worried. A chair pops into existence at Sam’s side and he motions for Sam to sit. With a shrug, he does so. Almost right away one of the dog-creatures breaks away from the group and comes to stand at Sam’s side. Tentatively, Sam reaches out to scratch behind its ear and it lays its head on his lap, wagging its spiky tail. Apparently, Sam has a new friend._  
  
 _“There is nothing to forgive,” the Dream King begins and Sam focuses his attention back on the god. “It’s a long story, but we’ve known each other - shared dreams - for many years.”_  
  
 _Sam makes a mental note to tease Dean about “sharing dreams” with a god and waits for him to continue._  
  
 _“He’s angry with me because when he came through to our realm to petition for the supernatural creatures to be pulled back through the barrier, I spoke against it.”_  
  
 _“But why?” Sam protests, forgetting yet again who it is he’s addressing. “Sir.”_  
  
 _“There’s no need for such formality, Sam. I consider your brother family, and you as well. You can call me Castiel. Or Cas, as Dean does.”_  
  
 _That statement takes a moment to sink in and Sam almost misses the rest of his explanation. “It is the natural state of things. Without those creatures in your world, the only thing mortals have to fear is other mortals, and there are those who relish that power. My work becomes disproportionately about nightmares and instilling fear in those who need to feel it.”_  
  
 _Sam decides that actually makes a lot of sense, and he can see how Dean might not accept that explanation as valid._  
  
 _“And there is less wonder in the world, and I am ill-equipped to provide such things.”_  
  
 _“I understand,” Sam states, and he can see the slight twitch of surprise on the god’s brow. “But I can also see how Dean would feel that it’s not good enough. He has good reason to dislike immortal and supernatural creatures.”_  
  
 _Castiel tilts his head, thinking over what Sam has just said and it occurs to Sam that he’s explaining things to a god. A being that is supposedly all-knowing and here he is -_  
  
 _“I can feel the smugness radiating off you from here, Sam.” He’s startled to see the god has risen from his chair and is walking toward him. Sam stands as well, dislodging the dog-creature from his lap with a whine. He pats it on the head and it scurries back to join the others._  
  
 _As Castiel places a hand on Sam’s shoulder, he’s surprised to see that they’re of a height - usually he towers over everyone he meets. Then he remembers: oh yeah, this is a dream. You can be whatever height you want._  
  
 _“Since Dean left the Divine Realms, he has shut me out of his dreams. And if he is having nightmares, I have to conclude that he is not exercising his abilities to control his dreams anymore as well.”_  
  
 _“His… abilities?” This is the first Sam has heard of Dean having any sort of magic._  
  
 _The god takes a step back and begins to pace back and forth. “Yes, Dean is very good at manipulating dreams. He understood right away things that people who have studied dream walking for years have yet to grasp. He must be very angry indeed to have pushed all that aside.”_  
  
 _“You say you know him well,” Sam begins, and Castiel stops pacing, meeting his eyes with a nod. “Then you’re aware of what a stubborn jackass he can be.”_  
  
 _This startles a quiet laugh from Castiel, and suddenly Sam can see a glimpse of the person his brother could be such good friends with. The Dream King shakes his head fondly and Sam wonders if possibly they are more than friends._  
  
 _The edges of the hall begin to blur and Castiel looks at Sam with eyes that once again contain the cosmos. “Tell Dean what I have said. Ask him to forgive me. Tell him…”_  
  
Sam floats up into consciousness and the sight of the bunker replaces the old castle before Castiel can finish his requests. Nevertheless, Sam could feel quite plainly what the Dream King was going to say.  
  
 _Tell him I love him._

 

* * *

  
  
Sitting next to Sam as he confronts the Dream King, Jess watches as his eyes dart back and forth under his lids. She’d been well aware of what Dean and his father did for a living - Sam had explained it all in bits and pieces over the years they’ve known each other, mostly after he’d gotten a message from Dean or heard from their friend Bobby and Sam was feeling homesick. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the dangerous, dirty and disgusting reality of it. The three men would come back to the bunker covered in things she’d rather never see - or smell - ever again. She had stitched up more gashes, iced more muscles and handed out more painkillers than she had in all her life, and she grew up with three brothers.  
  
She rearranges herself so Sam’s head is in her lap, and she runs her fingers through his ridiculously long, soft hair. When his forehead creases and he thrashes around, she makes soothing noises and trails her fingers across his forehead. Before he’d fallen completely asleep, he’d said he loved her. For more than a year she’d been keeping her own growing feelings under wraps, but it looks like she doesn’t need to anymore.  
  
After what seems like hours, Sam’s eyes finally crack open and he looks around frantically, but he smiles when he sees her face upside-down above him.  
  
“This was one of the strangest experiences of my life,” he croaks, struggling to sit up.  
  
“Impressive, considering you practice magic for a living,” Jess counters.  
  
Sam laughs, loud and unrestrained. She figures that’s the best sound in the world.  
  
“I need to go talk to Dean,” Sam says after he catches his breath.  
  
“Good luck.”

 

* * *

  
  
Dean finally shuts himself away in the bunker's garage to get away from Sam and his puppy dog eyes. It's a lot to process, all the things that Sam told him, and he's going to need some time to get it all straight. First of all, the fact that Sam and Jess went behind his back and Summoned Castiel - he can't quite wrap his head around that one. There's no way they could have known that Cas is essentially a good, friendly god. He could have been cold and calculating like Michael or a total ass like Gabriel. There's no telling what kind of havoc a god like Gabriel could wreak once he was Summoned.  
  
Thankfully they didn't need to worry about Cas being vengeful or capricious. But Dean hadn't realized that Sam was so worried about him that he'd go to a god and demand that he fix the situation. Dean has functioned on very little sleep in the past, but the last few years have completely spoiled him, so now a few hours of sleep feels like practically nothing. Add in those nightmares that have snuck their way back in and he's been barely holding it together. He just thought he'd been hiding it better.  
  
He sits in the front seat of the Impala, tucked snugly in between a Corvette Stingray and a dirt bike. Eventually, Sam comes to find him and slides into the passenger side.  
  
"Maybe I'll go on a road trip," Dean says into the tense silence. "Haven't been to the Grand Canyon in awhile."  
  
"Dean."  
  
"Or maybe Niagara Falls, I hear it’s amazing there this time of year."  
  
"Dean! It's February," Sam says as he leans in, grabbing ahold of Dean's shoulder. "Don't do this."  
  
"What, Sam?" Dean feels like being obstinate.  
  
"This whole... pushing people away thing. Castiel has very good reasons for what he said. It makes a lot of sense when you think about it."  
  
The thing is, Dean understands this to a certain extent. He gets that it sucks for Cas to have to be creating all the nightmares except for damaged people like Dean who dream about fire and losing their family and disappointing their father. But he doesn't want that to come at the expense of people dying in the real world, losing their families to demons and wendigos.  
  
Dean has found that Castiel has turned all his ideas about gods and beings from other realms upside down. He figured that humans were the only species that would ever make sense to him and he'd never have any reason to want to interact with immortals. Most of the gods he met when he went to the Divine Realms were still firmly in the category of beings he never wanted to see again (especially that Balthazar jackass), but those moments he had spent with Cas stuck with him. And to learn that he was actually good at something other than killing monsters and heaving his drunkass father into yet another motel bed - that had been a revelation that he's still working his way through. The thrill of creation is like nothing he's ever felt before and he admits that he goes a bit overboard just to see Cas' reaction.  
  
"Castiel is worried about you, just like we are. He misses you."  
  
Dean leans his head back against the headrest, sighing deeply.  
  
"And you know you'd sleep better if you just made some pleasant dreams for yourself. Castiel said you were really good at that."  
  
"Did he?" Dean's patience is wearing pretty thin at this point. "Because that's a useful talent, manipulating my own dreams. I'll definitely save the world from the supernatural using that! You're still the powerful, talented one in the family."  
  
"Dreams are powerful, Dean. I’ve read about dreamwalkers who can save people held captive by a djinni without African dream root. Think about the people you could help.”  
  
"Whatever you say, Sammy." Dean waves a hand through the air in a careless gesture.  
  
"Damn it, Dean," Sam gripes as he opens the door of the car and step out. "You're being a total idiot."  
  
"It's what I'm good at."  
  
Sam frowns deeply as he slams the car door, knowing full well how much it annoys Dean. Stalking away, he meets Jess in the door of the garage and shakes his head. She looks worriedly at Dean, who turns away, settling into the seat of the car. He figures he'll just close his eyes for a little while.  
  
 _He can hear someone calling his name from the other side of the walls he’s put up. The sound is muffled and distorted as it travels across the desolate landscape of his dream. He hasn’t had the motivation or inspiration to put any effort into dream-building in quite awhile, and satisfies himself with putting up defenses while he’s asleep._  
  
 _Although, he’s not entirely sure why he’s still putting up those walls. Sam was right; Castiel had every right to make the argument he did, and now that Abaddon is locked up tight again, things have been back to normal. Or as normal as it gets when one fights monsters for a living._  
  
 _The voice from across the wall gets clearer as Dean lets them fade, and of course it’s Cas. No one else would be so persistent. Finally he lets the defenses fall entirely and he sees Cas standing there, his ridiculous trenchcoat getting blown around in the wind. Dean waves him over and in an instant, the Dream King is standing not a foot from him._  
  
 _“Personal space, Cas,” Dean teases, and when Castiel takes a step back, Dean reaches out and pulls him back in. “It’s good to see you.”_  
  
 _“Thanks for letting me in.”_  
  
 _“Yeah, I was being an idiot,” Dean says as he changes the scenery from totally depressing to something a bit more pleasant: a forest scene, complete with soft sunlight slanting through the leaves._  
  
 _“I understand why you objected to my arguments. If you do not wish to see me in the future, I will continue to respect your boundaries,” Castiel promises, looking entirely too serious._  
  
 _Lying down in the thick grass blanketing the ground, Dean takes a deep breath. “Nah, of course I want to see you.”_  
  
 _Castiel joins Dean on the ground and Dean takes the god’s hand from where it rests on the ground and pulls it in against his chest. “I’m sorry I was so stubborn, man,” Dean whispers. "I've always been bad at seeing other's points of view."_  
  
 _Choosing to ignore the quiet snort and whispered “understatement” from Cas, Dean pulls him down until Cas is draped on top of him. “I missed you,” Dean whispers._  
  
 _“You as well,” the Dream King answers, trailing his hand along Dean’s face, cupping his chin and pulling him into a kiss._  
  
 _The world falls away and time ceases to exist as they explore each other's bodies. In dreams, they're both different than their waking selves and essentially the same, in the core of their being. Only now, Dean doesn't need to worry about being the older brother, the son, the one who keeps it all together as it’s all falling apart. He can be himself, someone who is loved and who enjoys being touched and taken care of and taken apart._  
  
 _Touch takes on a whole new dimension: a brush of fingers doesn't have to feel like skin at all, instead it could be silk or fur or the touch of feathers dragging along Dean's arm, across his chest and further down. The touch of clouds across his stomach and still further to encircle his cock, stroking lightly along his length. In dreams, it doesn't matter that they each have only two hands, they can touch inside and outside, everywhere at once, just with the power of a thought._  
  
 _The feeling of sparks racing down his spine begins to make itself known, and then there are actual sparks dancing along his skin - blue and purple and red. Cas smiles to see them, picking up his pace and watching the shards of light gather then burst outward. Dean can feel the orgasm rip through him and the entire universe explodes back into being._  
  
 _Brushing the hair from Dean’s brow, Cas leans in to whisper in some long dead language as he comes, draping himself over Dean with just the right amount of weight and pressure. The very air changes, wrapping a sense of fulfillment and satisfaction around them both._

__


	5. Epilogue

****

**Twenty years later**  
  
Castiel draws another card, although he’s still not sure how Gabriel managed to talk him into playing such a strange game. It’s all the rage with the mortals, his fellow god had claimed, but so far its just been an excuse for the Trickster to display his horrible sportsmanship.  
  
Case in point, Gabriel slaps down his remaining cards and crows “I win!” before getting up and dancing around the clearing.  
  
With a roll of his eyes, Castiel begins to gather the cards scattered about, when he’s hit with a sudden pain in his chest. He gasps, curling in on himself, and all he can focus on is it hurts until he opens his eyes to see Gabriel crouching in front of him. He keeps his hand clutched in the middle of his chest and looks up at Gabriel through blurry eyes.  
  
—Something’s wrong, — Castiel manages.  
  
"No shit, kid," Gabriel snarks, but then he turns serious. "Where does it hurt? Is it your heart?"  
  
—I… I think so,— Castiel says and then it all becomes clear. —Dean.—  
  
In the many years since he had first met Dean, the connection between them has only grown stronger. Sometimes when they’re sharing a dream they don’t even need to speak; just being together is all they need, and after a few years the the sexual dreams became less and less frequent. Castiel was always sad that they couldn’t be together in reality, but they’d gotten used to the small limitations of dreamwalking. Being with Dean had always made Castiel feel whole and happy.  
  
Now, all Castiel can feel is an aching emptiness and he’s absolutely sure of what’s happened. —Dean is dead,— he says, raising his head to meet Gabriel’s worried gaze.  
  
"Oh Cassie, I’m so sorry. That tends to happen to mortals."  
  
This startles a small laugh out of Castiel, but the next moment he’s pushing himself to his feet with a determined expression set on his face. He uses his scrying pool in a way he rarely does - to look into the Mortal Realms - and focuses in on the distraught faces of Sam and Jess. That one glance is all he needs.  
  
"What are you doing?" Gabriel follows him as he exits his domain. "Hey, buddy, you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?"  
  
It becomes quite plain that Castiel is indeed planning something stupid as he transports himself to the Peaceful Realms. Gabriel comes right along with him, grabbing the edge of Castiel’s robes and stares at his fellow god in surprise when he sees where Castiel has taken them.  
  
"Never knew you had it in you," Gabriel says with pride, but Castiel barely acknowledges it as he strides forward. The gate to the Peaceful Realms stands open, and the Black God waits, ready to escort all mortal souls into the realms of the dead.  
  
"What brings you here, Your Majesty?" the Black God asks, sweeping back the hood of his black robe. His face is pale and drawn, with ice blue eyes that send a chill up Castiel’s spine. Foreboding as he may be, the god of the dead is merciful, and he forgives any transgression committed by the souls that pass into his realm.  
  
—There is a mortal who recently passed away - his name is Dean Winchester.—  
  
The inscrutable God of Death merely looks at Castiel, giving nothing away.  
  
—I would like to take him with me to the Immortal Realms.— Castiel levels his best stare at the god, fairly confident that his expression can be just as impressive.  
  
"You know that isn’t possible, Castiel."  
  
—It’s just never been done before. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible.—  
  
The Black God makes a sound that may have been a laugh, or possibly just a sigh. "Are you prepared to journey through the Peaceful Realms to find him? It won’t be easy. His soul may be lost to you already."  
  
—I’m ready. I can find him, of that I have no doubt.— Castiel squares his shoulders.  
  
"Very well. Good luck, brother." And with that, the Black God stands aside and Castiel enters the Peaceful Realms.  
  
He finds himself in a hazy landscape, a wide, shallow river directly before him and a large wall obscuring his field of vision in all directions. After crossing the river, he moves through a small doorway cut into the wall. Immediately he understands that it is a labyrinth and he will have to find Dean’s soul within. After he makes his first left turn, he’s instantly surrounded by shades and ghosts, numbering in the hundreds if not the thousands. They mill about, seemingly unsure of what to make of a god in their midst. When he attempts to reach out, most dart away, but some stay close as if testing him. He begins to walk, coming to dead ends that emanate happiness and others that feel foreboding. Sometimes, when the souls brush against his skin, he gets impressions of scenes filled with good memories of families and travels around the world.  
  
Castiel makes note of the varying textures of the walls around him and the sky filled with dark thunderheads above, but remains focused on his task. A layer of fog clings to the ground - except that it’s not fog at all, as it drags at his feet, making it difficult to move forward. He continues on, never hesitating, until gradually he becomes aware of a particular soul tracking his steps diligently through the maze. He turns to face it, and it darts away to hide behind a corner. Waiting patiently, Castiel holds a hand out until the shade slinks up to him and comes to rest in his palm.  
  
—Dean?— Castiel says, and feels the soul respond to him. He lets out a shaky breath, cupping both hands around Dean’s soul. Constantly checking that it’s still willing to come along, he makes his way back through the labyrinth, to the river that borders the Peaceful Realms and crosses over. The moment he’s across, the soul in his hands begins to shift, morphing back into the familiar shape of Dean Winchester. The Dream King holds the unconscious man in his arms, thankful beyond words that he has done the impossible.  
  
He nods at the Black God as he passes through the gate once more, and unless he’s mistaken, sees a spark of approval in the god’s eyes.  
  
Of all the things Castiel expected, the last thing was to see Gabriel, Balthazar and Anael waiting when he emerged. The Trickster straightens from where he was leaning against a rock and stares, open-mouthed, as Castiel carries Dean through the gates leading back into the Divine Realms.  
  
"You did it," Gabriel says, breathing a sigh of relief.  
  
"I can’t believe it, Castiel. Why would you do something so…" Balthazar can’t seem to gather his thoughts.  
  
"Awesome?" Gabriel suggests.  
  
"Romantic?" Anael proposes.  
  
"Foolhardy!" Balthazar finishes, with a sideways glare at Gabriel. "Did you talk him into this?"  
  
Gabriel throws his hands up dramatically. "Don’t look at me. Cassie thought of this all on his own, the sap."  
  
—If you all don’t mind, I’m quite exhausted and I’d like to get Dean home.— Despite the thrill of “home” now including Dean, Castiel can feel the last dregs of his power flickering inside himself and knows he better get some rest.  
  
"Of course, Castiel. Please let us know if you need anything," Anael answers with a soft smile; she grabs ahold of Gabriel’s arm, pulling him along as she disappears. Castiel allows himself a moment to revel in his accomplishment before he gathers himself and relocates to his bedroom in his castle.  
  
When he arrives, he sees that Anael had been there before him. The room is warm, with unfamiliar, but extremely soft looking, blankets piled high on Castiel’s bed. There’s food set out on a side table, and a folded piece of paper sits in the middle. He lays Dean out on the bed, tucking the blankets around his slack body, and moves to the table. He picks up the note, reading the florid script:  
  
 _I meant it - let me know if I can help. Remember that being a god might take some getting used to._  
  
He climbs into bed next to Dean and only has a moment to worry about the repercussions of what he’s just done before he falls asleep as well.

 

* * *

  
  
Dean is not at all sure what’s going on. The last he remembers, he was among a group of hunters fighting a flock of stormwings, defending a small town against the creatures’ attack. He’d just thrown himself in front of a little girl who was about to get snatched up by one of the foul creatures, and then he’d woken up here in a bed, piled ridiculously high with blankets. There may have been some other, hazy memories in between those two events, but he pushes those to the back of his mind. He chooses to focus on the fact that it looks like he’s in an old castle, which is surprisingly bright and cheery. There’s sunlight streaming in through the windows that take up almost an entire wall and he can smell the delicious scent of burgers coming from the table to his right.  
  
Maybe I’m in the Peaceful Realms, Dean thinks. Not a bad place to spend the rest of eternity.  
  
The rustling of blankets beside him causes him to turn quickly and he sees the last thing he expected: Cas is next to him in bed. Sleeping, by all appearances.  
  
He reaches out to touch Cas’ face and jerks back; his best friend and lover feels real to the touch. Dean can’t figure out if that means he’s not dead, or what.  
  
Shaking Cas gently, then more violently when that doesn’t get a response, he calls Cas’ name a few times. His rising panic recedes somewhat when he sees Cas start to blink awake slowly; no one has any right to look that adorable while metaphorically drooling on his pillow (Dean doesn’t think its possible for him to actually be drooling). A bright smile replaces the dazed look on Cas’ face and he speaks into Dean’s mind. —Hello, Dean.—  
  
The twin shock of being able to speak mind-to-mind with a god and hearing the vibrant sound of Cas’ voice in his head is overshadowed by his sudden conviction that he isn’t dead and his relief that he’s with Castiel.  
  
"Hey, Cas," he responds. "Where are we?"  
  
Before he can blink, he has the Dream King in his lap, kissing all over his face and thinking a nearly unintelligible stream of thoughts about how glad he is that Dean is here with him and how much he loves him.  
  
—I’m sorry,— Cas says as he pulls back. —I can’t believe it worked. Dean, you’re in the Divine Realms. How would you like to be the consort to the King of Dreams?—  
  
It hits Dean again that he can communicate with Cas; all those years ago when he traveled to the realms of the gods to petition for their help, Cas could never talk directly to him or speak in his mind. Does this mean Dean is a god now?  
  
“Wait a minute, what?” He speaks out loud as the last bit of Cas’ statement finally sinks in. “Consort?”  
  
The excitement on Cas’ face dims instantly, and he slides off Dean’s lap, moving away so they’re not touching anymore. —I’m so sorry, Dean, I shouldn’t have assumed.—  
  
—Assumed what? Damn it, Cas, please explain what’s going on.—  
  
—You died, Dean. I felt it the moment your heart stopped and I…— Cas hesitates when Dean lays a hand against his own chest, feeling for a heartbeat. —I rushed to the Peaceful Realms to bring you back here with me, but I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted to be here.—  
  
—You rescued me from Hell?— Dean pulls Castiel closer again, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes and states, —It’s not Hell, Dean. Everyone’s souls end up in the same place between lives, no matter what they’ve done.—  
  
—I know, Cas. It just sounded more dramatic that way.— Dean smiles as Cas relaxes into him. —So I’m a god now?—  
  
—Yes. You can do anything you would like here in the Divine Realms; you don’t have to stay here with me. It’s not the most pleasant of locations, really,— Cas says as he looks around, no doubt focusing on the cobwebs in the corners and the layer of dust settled over all the furniture but the bed.  
  
—Hey, look at me.— Dean cups one hand around Cas’ cheek and leans in when their eyes meet, resting their foreheads together. —There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. You should know that, after all this time.—  
  
—I had hoped so, yes.— Castiel doesn’t look devastated anymore, thankfully, and Dean finds himself being pulled down into the blankets again. —If you would like, you can help me create dreams. Honestly, now that the barrier is gone and the supernatural beings are free in the Mortal Realms, I don’t need to create nightmares as much as I used to. I find myself a bit at a loss trying to create good dreams.—  
  
—You think I could do that? Really?—  
  
—Dean, I’ve never known anyone who can manipulate dreams as well as you can.—  
  
He thinks it over for a moment, pretending as though he’s not completely on board. —Can I make sexy dreams?—  
  
—I think I need more examples of your expertise with said sexy dreams before I can make a decision.—  
  
—Oh, I’ll give you examples,— Dean states and dives in to attack Cas’ mouth with kisses. Later, when they resurface breathless and laughing, Dean tucks himself close to Cas’ body.  
  
—Thank you for coming to get me,— Dean begins, not knowing how to put into words all the things he’s feeling. —I know I really wouldn’t have known any different if I’d stayed in the Peaceful Realms, but I’d rather be here with you for the rest of eternity.—  
  
—I’m very happy to hear it.—  
  
—When you said ‘consort’, did you mean… we’d be married or something?—  
  
—If that’s something you want, Dean, I would be honored if you’d be my husband.—  
  
—I don’t think I’ve ever heard a better engagement story,— Dean teases. —I can tell everyone you went to Hell and back for me.—  
  
—Dean!— Cas chastises him, but breaks into a broad smile when he sees how happy Dean is.  
  
—We could have a huge wedding ceremony and everything! I just wish Sam and Jess could be there.—  
  
—The wedding could be during one of the solstices or equinoxes to make it possible for your brother to come through,—Cas suggests.  
  
—You know what, I have an even better idea,— Dean tells him, and Cas can’t help feeling a bit of trepidation at the look of pure glee on Dean’s face.

 

* * *

  
  
_Sam is late for his alchemy final and he can’t even remember where the classroom is and he seems to have forgotten to put on pants - when suddenly everything shifts and he finds himself in a verdant valley. He’s aware that he’s dreaming now, but everything feels much more real than a normal dream and he’s reminded of the time he Summoned the Dream King and spent a terrifying night lucid dreaming in the presence of Dean’s boyfriend._   
  
_Looking to one side, Sam sees a form approaching through a haze. It soon becomes clear that it’s Jess, wearing a beautiful flowing lavender dress. She looks as confused as Sam feels and as soon as she spots him, she runs over, catching his hand and squeezing._   
  
_“What is this, Sam?”_   
  
_“I think we’re dreaming the same dream.”_   
  
_“Do you think Castiel brought us here?”_   
  
_“It’s possible...” Sam trails off at the sight of a raccoon wearing a tuxedo brushing past them. There are other beings milling around - he can see centaurs, fairies and even a few dragons among the crowd, as well as creatures he has no words for._   
  
_With a shrug, he starts to follow the flow of people into the center of the valley, pulling Jess along with him. Soon enough they’re in the middle of the crowd and Sam can just barely see Castiel standing on a raised platform in front of them, but it’s a familiar voice that has his heart in his throat._   
  
_“Hey Sammy! Glad you could make it!”_   
  
_He whips around to see his brother dressed in the fanciest tuxedo imaginable. And he has wings._   
  
_“Dean!” Pulling him into a tight hug, Sam feels like the luckiest guy in the universe; he never thought he’d get to see his brother again. He steps back, taking another good look at Dean. “What’s going on?”_   
  
_“Jess, you look lovely,” Dean addresses her instead of answering Sam’s question._   
  
_She grins, looking down at what she’s wearing. “Well, I guess technically you picked out the dress. Or Castiel did?”_   
  
_“This was all me, baby,” Dean says, lifting his arms to encompass the scene. He turns to walk back towards Castiel, through trees made of wedding cake and rivers that flow with what appears to be champagne. He beckons for the two of them to follow, laughing when they stop to look at the plants shaped like gramophones that are playing soft music._   
  
_“How is this possible?” Sam asks, his scholarly mind desperate for answers._   
  
_“Castiel rescued me from Hell -“_   
  
_“The Peaceful Realms,” Castiel speaks up from a few paces away and Sam has a sense they tease each other a lot about this._   
  
_“Fine, from the Peaceful Realms, after I died.”_   
  
_“That’s so romantic,” Jess says. She whacks her hand across Sam’s chest as if to say ‘why don’t you do something that romantic for me?’_   
  
_Snickering, Dean takes the last few steps to Castiel’s side. The wedding ceremony itself is short and to the point, and afterwards they release a flock of sparkling birds that twirl up into the sky. They eat a picnic of ridiculously large sandwiches and fruit and it’s all strange colors and nothing tastes quite the way it should, but Sam has never enjoyed a dream more. They spend the rest of their time reminiscing and talking about Sam and Jess’ plans for the future until Jess starts to wake up, hearing the voices of her children calling out to her._   
  
_“Tell the kids I miss them,” Dean asks, giving them both hugs._   
  
_“Of course,” Jess smiles sadly. “And they miss you.”_   
  
_“We’ll make some more dreams for you before too long,” Castiel promises, and with that, they’re gone._

 

* * *

  
  
Once Dean settles in, he goes about making changes to their domain, making it cheerful and bright. At first he’d asked Castiel’s permission and opinion on the changes, but before long he’d just gone about making the changes and Cas had loved every single one.  
  
The forest surrounding the area is now much less threatening, thinned out enough that travelers could enter there and walk through without being afraid of ghastly beasts or skeletal trees. Wildflowers bloom everywhere and butterflies (some more strange than others) drift among the blooms. The dream pool is situated in a clearing with a lovely view of the rest of the domain, under a purple tree that provides plenty of shade.  
  
The castle itself is a completely different building, since now it looks like a home. Colorful fabric and comfortable chairs are everywhere inside, with an actual kitchen and dining room they use on a regular basis, inviting fellow gods for an evening of companionship.  
  
However, it is the bedroom that Dean is the most proud of. He’d kept a lot of what Anael had put together the first day Cas brought him here, but had added many more pillows, curtains around the bed (he’d always wanted those) and a huge fireplace taking up almost a whole wall. In that room, they had spent many relaxing hours enjoying each other’s company in person, rather than translated through a dream, and somehow, the sex is even better than all the things Dean could conjure up in dreamland.  
  
Dean learns more about dreams than he ever thought there was to know. Dreams are the essence of our souls; within them, one can’t hide if one is a bad person, or prone to anger, or lost on the journey through life. It is all written in our dreams. The Dream King knows how to look into our dreams and craft a message to us, so that we have a chance at making better choices, at being better people.  
  
Castiel sees what he’s been missing all those thousands of years before he met Dean: an intimate connection with mortals. Dean knows how to get their messages across in a way that can be better understood by the dreamer. Of course, he is also prone to going off on wild tangents, making up the weirdest scenarios possible. Dream animals from the most fearsome creature to the fluffiest kitten come into being and coexist around the castle for the most part, milling around the area and making visitors laugh and run for their lives in equal measure. Dean still delights in creating the most ridiculous creatures and often laughs himself sick at the expression on Cas’ face when he comes home to some new pet tearing up the back garden.  
  
Taking a break from roughhousing with one of the largest of the dream-dogs, Dean walks down to the dream pool. He smiles to see Cas bent over the water, squinting into the depths, and steps to the god’s side. Once Castiel shifts his attention to him, he holds out his hand, and the Dream King grasps it tightly. Together, they step into the dream pool, the Dream King and his consort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading!! I had so much fun writing this fic, and working with writercas to create art and talking about Dream King headcanons with Jess.... It's been a wonderful journey.
> 
> I have a tag of inspiration for this fic, including music and art, on my [tumblr](http://myplaceofgreatestsafety.tumblr.com/tagged/dcbb-inspiration). I'll be adding more in the next few weeks. :)


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